Stained Future
by Master Slytherin
Summary: The war rears its ugly head and both Voldemort and Harry are presumed dead. But are they? 20 years on, there are whispers of a new fear: a wizard willing to kill in order to get what he wants. No slash. No angst. Full summary inside.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Ahem! I do not, never have done and never will own the Harry Potter series. They are the property of Bloomsbury and, apparently, Warner Bros. No money is, of course, being made. Thank you.

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**Summary: **_"I have to face him…alone. You both know that."_

The war rears its ugly head and both Voldemort and Harry are presumed dead. But are they? 20 years on, there are whispers of a new fear – a wizard willing to kill in order to get what he wants. Bodies begin to disappear. Harry is thrust out of his secluded life with his son and becomes Headmaster of Hogwarts. Can the new Headmaster face his past and save the wizarding world? More importantly, will he be able to do so when the blows become too personal?

Post-Hogwarts. No Slash. Post-OotP with a few concepts from HBP.

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**Thanks to: **Dark Syaoran, DGD, Lord Ravenclaw, LT2000, nonjon and Taure for reading through early versions of the first chapter and giving valuable feedback on it.

**Special Thanks To:** **Daggiebel**, my wonderful and ever patient Beta. **IP82,** who proved to be a strong wall to bounce ideas and chapters off of.

**Note: **This is NOT part of any competition.

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_A first sign of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die.__ -  
_**_Franz Kafka_**

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**Prologue**

The setting sun draped a crimson radiance over the golden buildings before it was swallowed by the night. Harry squinted and spotted stragglers scurrying into their houses, nervously glancing over their shoulders as they did so. With Voldemort back, the general wizarding public had reverted to the 'every man for himself' mind frame that had run riot during the first war.

To his right, plastered on the freshly mown grass, lay the _Daily Prophet_.

_**Fudge Assassinated, Scrimgeour New Minister**_

_Special report by Robert Robertson_

_Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and his two sons were murdered at their Yorkshire retreat in the dying hours of yesterday evening. Soon after, the Wizengamot held an emergency meeting and appointed Head of the Auror Department, Rufus Scrimgeour, as the new Minister for Magic. _

_Ministry officials have confirmed the death of Cornelius Fudge, and it is thought that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself committed the murder before sending up the Dark Mark (see left). The Ministry has been in uproar after the first major attack following the events at the fabled Hall of the Prophecy (reported last week). _

_Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Supreme Magwump, said, "We may mourn for the loss of Cornelius Fudge but a sinister mood has gripped our nation. Now we must work together to bring Lord Voldemort to justice before he leaves a path of destruction parallel to his first rising. Minister Scrimgeour is a born fighter and will front the crackdown on terrorism; he has my full support." Minister Scrimgeour was unavailable for comment. _

Harry sat, silently frustrated, as darkness descended and wrapped around him like a stifling blanket. His fingers itched to draw his wand, storm into Voldemort's hideout and kill him before anybody else died. He felt guilty that he did not care much that Fudge had been killed, but he knew Fudge was only the first of many to die unless he, Harry, stopped Voldemort.

_Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…_

Ever since that meeting the words of the prophecy reverberated through his mind. It kept the grief for Sirius at bay; he had a job to do. A job Sirius would have expected him to complete without moping around.

What annoyed him the most was that he had been transported from house arrest in Privet Drive to house arrest in the Burrow. While he loved the Weasleys dearly, he had inconvenienced them so much he almost felt culpable. He had convinced them a few hours previously that they should all go to Diagon Alley and leave him at home.

However fervently Mrs. Weasley tried to convince him that mail order was the latest wizarding craze, Harry all but forced them to go. Hermione and Ginny stayed (Hermione had already bought her things and Ginny had not grown much – Mrs. Weasley was more than capable of picking up the other materials) while Ron had to go as he was a full three inches taller than the previous year. Kingsley was given the job of looking after them.

So there he was. Sitting at the highest point of the Weasley's garden, thinking and brooding. He thought he heard a noise and swivelled around.

"Oh, Hermione, Ginny, what are you doing here?" asked Harry woodenly. Ginny anxiously bit her lip while Hermione frowned.

"What are we doing here? We're here to find out whether you've been kidnapped. You've been out here since dinner!"

"So?" said Harry.

"Just come back in, it's going to get cold and you've only got a T-Shirt on. Plus Kingsley said we-"

"-weren't allowed out after dark, I know." He played with the idea of going inside. While it _was_ getting rather nippy under the cloudless sky, he did not want to conform to idiotic curfews and certainly wished to avoid Hermione's self-satisfied looks at all costs.

"I know you're feeling down about Sirius," began Ginny sympathetically.

"Every time I'm not completely happy it's always Sirius, isn't it?" said Harry, not unkindly. Before Hermione could argue further, he marched across the garden and into the kitchen. _At least this way it's not really on her orders that I'm going inside._

"Finally inside, then?" said Kingsley uninterestedly. He was sitting on one of the old wooden chairs at the dining table with a mug cupped in his hands.

"Yeah," replied Harry shortly. He felt his stomach roar for food and complied by searching one of the cupboards. He was joined by Hermione and Ginny who were both wearing identical scowls.

Before Hermione could admonish him, a ripple ran through the ground that shook the very foundations of the Burrow.

"It's an earthquake!" cried Harry. He remembered learning about earthquakes in primary school, and it was one of the scariest things he had ever come across during his younger years.

"No, that's impossible," babbled Hermione feverishly. "Earthquakes occur on tectonic plate boundaries when a build up of strain energy is released. We're no way near a plate boundary, the nearest one-"

"The wards are being attacked," snapped Kingsley after a quick look outside. "This is one of the most protected places in the country, it could be the inner circle. Here, take these." He passed around three chocolate frog cards to the bafflement of the three teenagers.

"What-"

"They're Portkeys. When the wards fall, say 'love' and they'll take you to Headquarters."

"Why can't we-"

"There are anti-Portkey wards in place. We'll just stay inside here until-"

Kingsley was cut off as the ground began to shake more violently. China tea-cups began to fall from their racks. One just missed Harry as it fell and a knife knocked out of the drawer almost sliced Hermione's ear off.

"GET OUTSIDE!" yelled Kingsley.

"BUT THAT'S WHERE THE DANGER IS!" shrieked Ginny.

"BETTER THAT THAN DEATH IN HERE!" roared Kingsley. Quickly, they scrambled for the door. He heard a cry of pain from behind him, but Ginny ushered him out.

Ignoring the fresh blast upon stepping outside, he swivelled around and gasped. Kingsley had a long, red gash down the side of his face. Blood began creeping out of it and danced across the Auror's face. He had been hit.

"Kingsley!" shrieked Hermione. Suddenly a spark of lilac etched its way across the sky above the Burrow and a grey screen domed across it. It was joined soon after by a red spark and the dome became a lighter grey, like a middle-aged man's beard. The sparks stayed, though, hanging ominously.

"Hide!" Kingsley said thickly. "Harry, do you have your invisibility cloak?"

"No, it's upstairs. Should I-"

"No, just hide somewhere, anywhere. Do it now! When the wards fall, take the Portkey."

"Can't we just disillusion ourselves?" asked Ginny fearfully.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will see right through it! Albus has told us about some of the transformations the Dark Lord has been through."

"What about you? Will you be alright?" asked Hermione as Kingsley temporarily stopped the flow of blood. The ground reverberated again and a small crack ran its way through the ground. It was accompanied by a wash of turquoise across the dome.

"Don't worry about me. I've got a job to do. Hide!"

Harry narrowed his eyes. _He's going to take on Voldemort!_ He was about to follow the injured Auror when he felt a hand hold him back.

"We've got to hide, Harry." He tugged his arm out of her grasp and glared at her.

"No, _you've_ got to hide. _I've_ got to face Voldemort. It's up to me to beat him, not Kingsley."

"Harry, you can't!" cried Hermione.

"If you go, we'll go," said Ginny intently. A brilliant flash of blinding white light lit up the whole area above the Burrow and the dome grew lighter. Harry had to shield his eyes under its gaze. Then, as if it had never existed, the dome had gone, taking all the other coloured lights with it. The temperature seemed to dip further.

"Take the Portkey!" cried Harry over his shoulder as he rushed towards Kingsley and an approaching figure.

"No! We're going with you!"

"I said take the bloody Portkey! There's nothing you can do but injure yourselves. Voldemort's no walk in the park, you've never been up against him, he'll kill you!"

Harry sprinted harder and spotted Voldemort deflecting all the spells Kingsley was sending at him. He grimaced as Kingsley was thrown to the floor. He did not get up.

"Ah, Harry, how wonderful to see you," sneered Voldemort as Harry ran closer. "I was speaking with your mudblood protector friend here, and he informed me you were gone. You can understand how relieved I am that you've joined me. Oh and you've brought friends as well? Charming." His thin pale lips were drawn into a cold smile.

Harry's hands slowly closed into fists. Here was the man who robbed him of everything. His mother, father, Sirius. It was because of him that Harry went to the Dursleys. "_Reducto!_"

Voldemort yawned and flicked the curse away. "Now, now, Harry, violence is not always the key. Has Dumbledore taught you nothing?"

"_Stupefy! Reducto! Stupefy!"_ Two of the curses missed and the one of the stunners was again lazily batted away. Harry was fuming now, he had to hit him! Beside him, Kingsley began to stir. _He's alive!_

"I'm growing rather bored of you, Harry," said Voldemort coldly. "I tire of the constant annoyance you face me with. Funny how you slither out of the most unfavourable of situations. Snake-like, in fact. Perhaps you do belong to Slytherin."

"_Conjunctiva! Impedimenta!"_ Both rebounded off a thin shield around Voldemort and rebounded harmlessly away.

"However, this time you will not escape. I will personally make sure of it. Today, the prophecy will be fulfilled. Let me start with your friends."

"No! _Crucio!_" The sickly red curse passed straight through the shield and struck Voldemort squarely in the chest. To Harry's horror, other than a raised eyebrow, the Dark Lord showed no other effects. Both Ginny and Hermione gasped, their first actions since being glued to the spot by Voldemort's mere presence.

"Fool," spat Voldemort. "You hold only righteous anger. You have to _mean_ it. _Crucio!_"

Harry could not dodge in time and felt the familiar unbearable pain course through his body. He bit his lip to stop himself from screaming. A trickle of blood rolled down his chin as he pressed down harder. He could not hold it in any longer. His scream pierced the still night. Quickly, it was released, and he panted deeply, suddenly aware that he was on his knees.

"_Fallangata!"_ yelled Hermione shakily. A yellow, concentrated beam arced perfectly towards Voldemort, who side-stepped skilfully.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Hermione's eyes widened, and Harry bellowed for her to move. She ducked in time, and the curse dissipated innocuously. Kingsley crouched down and reached for his wand. Before he could do anything, Voldemort shot the Killing Curse at him. Simultaneously, Harry shot another stunner at Voldemort.

The two curses brushed past each other, just enough for the Killing Curse to be deflected away from Kingsley. Harry's smile was wiped off his face. He paled, mouth ajar. The green curse of death had veered away from Kingsley only to strike Ginny in the shoulder.

"No!" Harry bellowed as she fell awkwardly into a crumpled heap. She was dead. "NOOO!"

"Take the bloody Portkey!" hissed Kingsley painfully. Harry delved in his pocket and extracted his Chocolate Frog card Portkey. Face stinging with tears, he banished it towards Hermione.

"Love," he yelled. Before either Hermione or Voldemort knew what was happening, she was gone.

"I meant you, Harry! Why didn't you take the bloody Portkey yourself?" winced Kingsley difficultly.

"Potter, you lost your chance. You won't save this disgrace of an Auror now. _Avada Kedavra!_" This time, the Killing Curse struck true. There was nothing he could do, Kingsley was dead.

"I'm gonna kill you," breathed Harry erratically. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU! _Avada Kedavra!"_ A brilliantly green jet of light the size of a log lit up the area and rushed towards Voldemort. Harry had to avert his eyes as the radiance blinded him.

When he opened his eyes, there was no Voldemort. His tear-sticken gaze was drawn towards the ground where Voldemort had stood seconds earlier. In his place was a bundle of robes. _Is he dead?_ Harry stumbled forward and investigated further. An excruciating relief built up slowly inside of him and threatened to flood his grief. He fell to his knees in exhaustion. _It's over._

"Relieved?" whispered a voice in his ear. Harry's blood ran cold. Voldemort was still alive.

Without warning, he was blasted through the air at the speed of a firebolt. Before he knew it, he had entered through the open doorway to the Burrow. Luckily, he managed to evade the doorway. His joy was short-lived as he crashed back first into the far wall of the kitchen. He screamed in pain. His back felt as if it was on fire.

Unexpectedly, he felt as if he was shot by a bullet as _something_ entered his mind. It spoke to him in a deep, harsh whisper. "You thought you could kill Lord Voldemort? Foolish boy. I will always have the last laugh. How ironic that the last thing you will experience is your only love, this muggle lover's hovel. Goodbye, Harry."

The departure of the voice was met with the same searing pain. He began to black out and could feel the temperature rise. The ceiling above him was crumbling and looked as if it would fall at any moment. He thought he was beginning to see things as he could make out the figure of a black panther bounding through the collapsing doorway. _I'm sorry I failed you mum._ His eyes closed for one last time.

_Darkness._

_Where am I? _

_What happened?_

_Am I…dead?_

All of a sudden, Harry became aware of a soft material caressing his cheek. He blindly stretched his fingers out. They worked. He moved his legs a little. They worked. _Is this what death is like? Waking up in a nice bed?_

Harry awoke with a start. He rubbed his eyes before stretching his arms. He groped for his glasses and found them on his bedside table. He gazed around at the room; it was brilliantly white with nothing in it but his bed and a white bedside table. For a fleeting moment he thought he was in heaven.

Upon closer inspection he found that the room's holy aura did not just come from the colour of the walls. Sunlight poured in from a large glass door directly opposite to his bed. The doors were open, and the curtains were billowing spectrally in a gentle breeze. Harry pulled back his covers and found he was wearing a pale-blue dressing gown. He licked his dry lips and walked slowly towards the doors.

"I knew the first thing you'd do is go to the balcony. That's two galleons father owes me." Harry jumped, then stood rooted to the spot. He turned on his heel and eyed the intruder.

She held an air of modest normality that was utterly new to Harry. The only feature that stood out was her long, blonde hair that fell down to the small of her back. There was an honest glint in her baby blue eyes and her small smile bore sincerity. She looked very much like a typical rural-bred girl.

"I'm Lyra, by the way," she added chirpily.

"I'm-"

"Harry, yes, I know. So how'd you like your room?"

"Err I dunno, I was just looking around you see…"

"How silly of me. Come on, let's go to the balcony, you were clearly heading that way anyway."

She led him past the billowing curtains and onto a very small platform with white railings passing around it. The rising sun set a dance of rays over a sea of water in the distance. The balcony peeked over a towering cliff overlooking a small, grubby beach. Harry watched open-mouthed as small waves rushed in and tickled the sand. A small ship was sailing away towards the horizon, its elevated masts a shadow.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" whispered Lyra. "Sometimes I just stand here and watch the sun set, it kind of reminds me of-" She snapped out of her reverie as if she had only just noticed Harry and flushed. "Sorry, I went into a different world just then, didn't I?"

"No, you're right," muttered Harry, meeting her eyes with his. "It _is_ beautiful." She smiled slightly, draping her arms over the railings.

"We can go down to the beach, I mean – if you want of course." Harry peered down at the secluded beach and the hopeful look on Lyra's face.

"Sure, is there a ladder here somewhere?" Harry's eyes roved around the platform, hoping there was an easier way. He shot Lyra a befuddled look as he caught her chuckling. "What?"

She placed her small hand over her mouth in an effort to abate her giggling. "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you a muggle or something? We're gonna apparate of course! Erm, you _do_ know how to apparate, don't you?"

"Erm…no," admitted Harry, slightly embarrassed at his lack of expertise.

"Don't worry," she said reassuringly, finally winning her battle to keep a straight face, "just touch my arm." Harry felt goose bumps appear down his back as he lightly touched her arm. The warm sensation was replaced by a feeling of being forced through a small tube. In a blink of an eye, they were on the beach.

Suddenly, he felt extremely self-conscious of wearing only his dressing gown. He flushed slightly and made sure the gown was properly covering his body as he sat down.

"Where am I?" asked Harry wistfully, gazing into the distance.

"You're in Yarmouth, my dad's house to be specific. My dad brought you in some time ago, you were pretty roughed up. No need for you to tell me about your story, every goddamn person knows it anyway."

"What? Who's your dad? Why did he bring me here?"

"My dad's a Prewett, Pascal Prewett to be exact. He brought you here because he had to."

"Prewett?" said Harry. "But Mrs. Weasley only mentioned-"

"My dad…well let's say he not particularly close with his family any more. I'm sure he'll tell you the whole story when you meet him."

"Do you go to Beauxbatons?" asked Harry, she looked his age, but he was quite sure he had never seen her at Hogwarts.

"No, father teaches me at home. We…there's no point in going to school. We just stick it out together."

"But – But wouldn't you prefer to be around people your age?" said Harry, the mere thought of not going to school was utterly bizarre; he couldn't imagine learning by himself, with just one person.

"Not really, people our age are idiots – no offence. Sometimes I wish I had a brother or sister, but I'm happy with dad. I don't know what I'd do if he weren't here with me…"

Suddenly the memories came back to Harry. Voldemort had attacked the Burrow. Kingsley was dead. Ginny was dead. It was entirely his fault. He gazed down at the sand, grabbed a handful and let it trickle out of his hands slowly. "It was all my fault," he whispered.

"What was your fault? Father didn't say…."

Harry just sat there, numb with the true severity of it all. He had directly caused her death. _I'm practically a murderer. What will Ron and the other Weasleys think? Will I be sent to Azkaban? Do they know the truth, that I killed her?_ A sickening feeling made its way to the back of his mouth. _It's_ _entirely my fault_.

"Listen – Harry – I don't really know what happened, but I can tell you wouldn't have done…whatever it is on purpose."

"But _I_ killed her," he croaked, a lump rising in his throat. "_I_ killed Ginny." Lyra looked shocked for a moment then met his eyes. Comprehension seemed to dawn on her as she looked at him before Harry broke the contact.

"Did you cast the Killing Curse?" she asked calmly.

"It was my fault, it doesn't matter who-"

"I said, did you cast the Killing Curse?" she repeated sharply.

"Well no-"

"Then it's not your fault!" Harry lifted his heavy head.

"You don't understand," he said hollowly.

"Hey!" yelled a voice from behind him. He quickly wiped a stray tear from behind his glasses. As the man drew closer, Harry gasped. Marching towards them was a short, rugged man with broad shoulders. His hair was long, unkempt and flaming red and crept into an equally shaggy beard. His eyes were small, brown and restless; a wild madness seemed to reside within them. He limped right up to Harry and shook him gruffly by the shoulders.

"Lyra! I thought I told you not to talk to 'im without me, eh? I thought I told you _I_'_d_ be the one to explain, eh? You better 'ave a good explanation for disobeying me…"

"Daddy, please, am I not allowed to have friends then? Do I have to stay lonely for the rest of my life? Is that what you want?" She stood abruptly and placed her hands on her hips.

"No, honey, but you need to understand that boys his age-" He jerked a thumb towards Harry. "-only think about sex. I'm not gonna let some young whippersnapper take advantage of my only daughter!"

"He's grieving, dad!" she practically yelled. "Apparently, he lost two people and all you can do is make stupid assumptions!"

"Don't you dare get rude with me, young lady!" he roared. "I'm here to protect you! And you just go around disobeying direct orders!"

"Erm, sorry to butt in," said Harry, "but are you Pascal Prewett?" Both father and daughter stopped and looked at him. Both blinked simultaneously before Lyra cracked a striking smile and nodded.

"You better come inside," growled Pascal reluctantly. Harry side-along apparated with Pascal to a beige living room with arched windows and a comfortable leather set of couches as centre pieces. He was sat down on the large three-seater and was joined by Lyra. Pascal's heavy lidded eyebrows narrowed as he seemed to measure the space between the two teenagers.

"This is a long story," he began huskily. "I only 'ope your attention span is slightly above average for those of your age. As you guessed, I'm the eldest Prewett sibling. Well, there's a lot of crap in my past and to sum it up, one thing led to another, and I ran away. It was cruel and stupid, but at the time I thought it was the best way. After a few years, they assumed I was dead."

"Err…that was kind of vague," said Harry truthfully.

"Pipe down, boy. Now, I was 'aving quite a good life, making money 'ere and there, but my plan failed me for a day. I discovered a prophecy that involved you and the Dark Lord. Dumbledore's probably told you it by now-" Harry nodded "-Well, I made an Unbreakable Vow to Molly when our parents were killed that I'd do whatever I could to kill the Dark Lord."

"An Unbreakable Vow?" Harry asked.

"A vow which cannot be broken. It is punishable by death. After that 'Alloween night, I was still unable to execute my vow – you were far too young anyway - and I 'aven't been able to get a 'old of you…until now. I'll turn you from a lucky dunderhead to a feared and skilful wizard."

"Why weren't you able to take me before now? Why did you run away?"

"Those questions aren't for today. Per'aps I'll tell you one day, but you need to earn my trust first. Now let me lay down the law when training; whatever I say goes. If I tell you to get up, you get up. If I tell you to 'ex Lyra, you bloody well 'ex 'er till she's begging for mercy, you understand?"

"Wait a minute," said Harry slowly. "I need to go back to the Burrow and explain what happened. Term starts soon. I need to go to Hogwarts and…and G-Ginny's funeral…"

"You won't be going back," cried Pascal fiercely. "You need to be trained _now_. Not tomorrow, not the day after, NOW!" Harry jumped slightly at the sudden shout and was almost rendered speechless.

"B-but…"

"No buts! Anyway, you can't go back. The wizarding world thinks you're dead."

"What!"

"There was an article saying that you defeated Voldemort," said Lyra softly. "They said you took your life to take his; you're a celebrated martyr now."

"What'll they do when Voldemort attacks in a few days?" Lyra exchanged a look with her father.

"That's the funny thing," said Lyra. "There's been no word of Voldemort. Some of his influential followers have been questioned with Veritaserum, and they confirm that the Dark Lord's gone. It's almost as if he disappeared that night. Perhaps he's biding his time, waiting for the right moment…"

"Meanwhile, the idiots in the wizarding world 'ave been celebrating for weeks now. August the third is Harry Potter Day. A statue of you 'as been made in the Ministry lobby to celebrate it. This bodes well for us. I can spend this time training you without that stuck up old shitball Dumbledore trying to find you."

"What've you got against-"

"Don't ask," said Lyra, "it's a long story. Anyway, looks like you're gong to live with us here in Yarmouth!" She looked genuinely delighted.

"I don't care if they think I'm dead!" exclaimed Harry. "I _want_ to go back, I _have_ to go back. You can train me after I sort everything out. Sorry, Mr. Prewett, but I'm not leaving the wizarding world."

"You _are_ leaving the wizarding world," growled Pascal angrily. "You're leaving because I told you you're leaving. You _will_ stay 'ere. You've no choice."

Harry looked from Lyra to Pascal. _There's no point in arguing_, he thought_, there's no way I can persuade him to let me go. Maybe I can try to escape later_.

"Fine," said Harry, feigning resolve. "I'll stay."

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Interlude: Release

**Disclaimer: **Ahem! I do not, never have done and never will own the Harry Potter series. They are the property of Bloomsbury and, apparently, Warner Bros. No money is, of course, being made. Thank you.

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**Thanks to:** Everyone who reviewed, though I admit I'm a bit baffled at the poor response. 

**Special Thanks To:** **Daggiebel**, my wonderful and ever patient Beta. **IP82** who proved to be a strong wall to bounce ideas and chapters off of.

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_Faith and doubt both are needed - not as antagonists, but working side by side to take us around the unknown curve.__ - _**_Lillian Smith_**

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**Release**

**24th July 2015 – Azkaban Prison**

An old man sat in a dirty cell. His bright blue eyes showed hints of previous wisdom, but a dim mistiness in them gave him the air of a man on the edge. He had a sweeping, dirty white beard with great chunks missing and shoulder-length stained hair. One of the lenses of his half-moon spectacles was cracked, and the whole structure balanced precariously at the end of a long, thin nose. Despite the wild exterior, it was clear that the man was none other than Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore heard footsteps and looked up sharply, his eyes wide and mad. It was only a sneering prison guard.

"Reeks of Dark Arts," Dumbledore mumbled broodingly, sitting in the corner of the small, stone cell. "The whole lot of them. Yes, Dark Arts. They all smell so strongly of it…"

"Quiet in there," snarled the prison guard, and Dumbledore jumped.

"Telling me to be quiet, the Dark supporter. I bet he's one of Voldemort's. Feasting on the Dark Arts. Yes, the Dark Arts. They all follow him now, society is shattered. The tainted souls reign supreme; it's too late. We have been defeated. Yes, defeated." Dumbledore rubbed his hands together; the cold had recently become quite unbearable.

The prison guard shook his head wearily. Over the past couple of years he had noticed a deterioration of the old man's state. He had heard him scream as he relived his worse memories and it seemed as if he was finally cracking. The old codger kept muttering about the Dark Arts and how he was going to crush every last Dark Wizard. _It's a shame_, thought the guard, _he used to be such a great wizard._

"No!" yelled Dumbledore as a Dementor drew closer. "Eloise, no! Don't go! Grindelwald will kill you! I'll kill him! Everything taken away! Everything taken away by evil! I won't rest until it's all destroyed." The former headmaster sobbed into his robes hysterically.

The light dimmed, and Dumbledore spotted three figures standing in the corridor wearing the attire of prison guards. The one closest to him was a short witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair. It was obvious she hadn't slept properly in a long time. Beside her was a tall, lean woman who seemed almost intimidating beside her counterparts. She was stately-looking and wore a green shawl which matched her small, beady eyes. Finally there was a small, balding man with an excited expression of admiration.

"Dumbledore?" whispered the tall woman from beyond the grim railings of the cell.

"No!" bellowed Dumbledore, his face contorted with rage. "Death to the Dark Arts!" He thrashed about wildly; it seemed as if he was trying to fight for his life.

"He's here but he's in a bad way. The Dementors have got to his head," called the same voice. "Are the flying carpets positioned outside the prison?"

"Affirmative," said the small, balding man.

"You'll never take me alive! I'll never bow down to the darkness! Kill me! Take me instead! I'd rather die than let you take my wife! TAKE ME!"

"There's a Dementor down the corridor there. Banish it!" said another voice quickly.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

Dumbledore looked up slowly, sweat dripping down his face. He held up a thin, vein-laden hand to block his eyes as a beam of white light lit up the hallway.

"That's not Dark Arts," muttered Dumbledore softly. "The light is bright and warm. A small beam of hope in this world filled with darkness. Perhaps H-Harry? Yes, Harry. But Harry is dead. No, but the signs, the signs. But how can he be? Necromancy perhaps? Yes, Dark magic. Then he must be killed! Death to the Dark Arts!

"You, I know you," continued Dumbledore slowly as the moonlight illuminated the face of one of the guards. "You're not Dark wizards. You're supporters of all things good and beautiful."

"We're here to get you out, Professor. We don't have much time," said the mousy woman.

"But what if you're Dark wizards in disguise? It may be a ploy. Yes, a ploy. I'll never join the darkness. Death to the Dark Arts!" Dumbledore backed away from the approaching threesome and tripped over his own foot.

"Sorry, old chap," said the tall woman, her voice dripping with elusive aristocracy, "but we've got to get you out of here before they realise they have three too many guards on duty. _Stupefy!_"

The beam of red light struck Dumbledore squarely in the chest, but he didn't fall instantly. He merely doubled over and began to cough.

"On three," ordered the aristocratic woman.

"Together? But that's dangerous," said the wheezy old man anxiously.

"I don't care, Dedalus," snapped the tall woman. "I'm in charge here. We've all been planning this for weeks, and I'm not letting your weak hand get in the way. Dumbledore's getting out of here whether he likes it or not.

"Attacked! You're Dark wizards after all! There is no justice in the world! Death to the Dark Arts!" Dumbledore staggered to his feet, clutching his stomach with his right hand, and swung wildly.

"One, two, three. _Stupefy_!" Three jets of red light hit Dumbledore, and, finally, the old man collapsed in a heap.

"I can't believe we just stunned Professor Dumbledore!" said the mousy woman fretfully.

"Shut up, Tonks. Help me get him out of here!" Neither Tonks nor Dedalus looked as if they were overly happy at the situation but did as they were told nonetheless.

"Why don't we just use our wands, Emmeline?" said Tonks as she struggled with the others to lift the old man.

"Because the ministry will detect that more magic than usual has been used here," snarled Emmeline. "Patronus Charms are used all the time by the guards but any other curses will get us into trouble. Now hurry up before the Dementors realise he's missing." Dumbledore's upper body was resting in Dedalus' arms, Tonks made sure his head was upright and Emmeline lifted his legs.

"I don't see the point in this," said Dedalus uncomfortably as they made their way cautiously along the winding corridors. "He's cracked. You heard him before, absolutely bonkers."

"We need a leader. Bill's been all well and good but he's got nothing on Dumbledore. With him back, justice can be served once more. What's more, he'll tell us if Harry Potter's alive. With Potter and Dumbledore, we can fight back again." Emmeline sported a fanatical, lop-sided grin.

"But-"

"Shut up or we'll get caught," said Emmeline, cutting Tonks' qualms short.

They descended the stairs to the ground floor and heard nothing but the screams of the prisoners. While the cells themselves were filthy, the corridors were laden with unblemished black marble. There were no windows, however, which gave the passageways a suffocating quality. They passed cell after cell but there wasn't a Dementor in sight.

"It's too quiet," said Tonks uneasily. "There should be at least five Dementors per cell."

"There's a dying prisoner on the fourth floor, remember?" snapped Emmeline edgily. "You know how they are, the plan's worked perfectly so far." They could see the entrance now; it was a ray of light in the distance.

Suddenly, all three felt a freezing cold pass over them. There was a shrill screech of some unearthly being.

"No," whispered Tonks, "they're here! Dementors!" A hundred of the hooded creatures floated towards the group.

"Dedalus, use the Levitation Charm on Dumbledore. He must be kept alive at all costs. Make for the carpets. Tonks, Patronus Charm now! _Expecto Patronum_!" Emmeline closed her eyes and tried to block out the picture of her father beating her mother. She couldn't get the screaming out of her head.

"No! _Expecto Patronum_!" A thin wisp of grey mist appeared.

'_Stop it, daddy! You're hurting mummy. Stop it!'_

'_Go to your room, Emma, mummy's been a naughty girl.'_

'_No daddy. M-mummy's dying. I'm not a baby anymore. Stop it! Stop it!'_

Emmeline fell to her knees as the memories of her past washed over her. Memories she had fought to block out. Unbeknownst to her, Tonks was fighting as hard as she could, a brilliant silver wolf tearing through the ranks of Dementors but there were just too many of them.

"I told you you shouldn't have come," cried Tonks through gritted teeth, "I told you it should've been Bill instead. Leader? Ha!"

Dedalus was concentrating on keeping the solid corporeal form of his terrier Patronus as well as keeping Dumbledore safe, but for every Dementor he chased away, three took its place. He felt some movement beside him and quickly found himself without a wand.

Emmeline began sobbing uncontrollably as thirty Dementors closed in, her Ministry training out of the window. She had trouble against three consecutive Dementors, let alone a whole pack.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_"

A magnificent silver phoenix swooped down onto the lustful Dementors. They began screeching and scattered. A few tried to fight the human-sized bird but after charging them once more, the braver Dementors joined their fellows and headed blindly away from the overwhelming presence of the phoenix Patronus.

"Ha! Death to the Dark Arts! It feels so good to hold a wand again. Yes, like a long lost brother."

Emmeline was the first to recover and gingerly stood. There, standing in the hall triumphantly, was Dumbledore. She may have mistaken him for the old Dumbledore if not for the familiar twinkle not residing in those blue eyes.

"How did you get hold of a wand?" she asked thankfully, slightly awed that he had overcome three stunners.

"That wizard dropped it as the Dementors surrounded us."

"You weren't affected?" she asked unbelievingly. If they had caused him such mental damage, how had the Dementors not affected him this time?

"The feeling of a wand in between my fingers was like a breath of fresh air. It brought back memories that allowed me to cast the Patronus Charm like I used to. Let us leave this place. It will not do to dwell here too long; it reeks of evil, the poison of our society."

Emmeline exchanged a confused look with Tonks and followed Dumbledore down the hallway. They had to jog to keep up with his long strides.

"Come, we're leaving this place," said Dumbledore and pulled Dedalus to his feet as if he was a rag doll. He ignored the baffled looks he was receiving and continued at his rapid pace.

"Dumbledore, wait!"

"He who hesitates is lost," said Dumbledore briskly and picked up the pace.

"I need my wand back," complained Dedalus, who was finding keeping up a harrying task. Dumbledore stopped suddenly.

"Oh. I suppose you do." He reluctantly gave it back to Dedalus who had to use force to extract it effectively. As soon as the wand left his hands, Dumbledore was reduced to his brooding self.

"The Dementors might return soon. The epitome of darkness they are. Yes, so many Dark wizards have used their power. Perhaps Harry's used them now he's joined the other side. They're all evil. The wizarding public have been reduced to treachery, I'm sure. Alas that Voldemort is still alive. Of course, Voldemort and Harry. Together they're unstoppable. Yes, unstoppable."

"Quickly Tonks, give him your wand," said Emmeline in alarm. This change in his personality was astounding. Tonks, who was equally surprised, threw her wand towards her leader. Dumbledore's wild gaze passed over the dark brown wand. He instantly grabbed for it, and once again there was a visible change.

"Why are we standing in the middle of this house of darkness?" exclaimed Dumbledore. He quickly scrambled to his feet and headed for the gargantuan stone double doors.

"This is dangerous," muttered Emmeline to the other two as they saw Dumbledore tap the doors with the wand. "This is really dangerous. We've got to keep this between ourselves."

"What, even keep it from the others?" said Tonks.

"Yes," said Emmeline forcefully, "we don't know if there are any spies. If the wrong people were to find out what happens when Dumbledore loses his wand…" She ended in a shudder.

Dumbledore managed to open the door, and they were instantly attacked by a blast of warmth. The former Headmaster stepped out and took a deep breath of fresh air. It was the first time he had been outside for fifteen years.

The grey North Sea was the first thing he saw. The violent waves crashed into the pier-like structure leading out from the door for half a mile, but to no avail. Ravenous seagulls dived down lower, expecting humans to leave behind food, but their hungry stomachs were not abated; the four left nothing as they dashed away towards a small boat anchored at the mouth of the pier and beyond it, four illegal magic carpets.

"HEY!" Emmeline craned her neck as she ran and spotted three guards sprinting towards them.

"Run faster," she urged, and they all broke into a sprint, poor Dedalus panting uncontrollably. The carpets seemed to move further away the closer they ran towards them. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, but it did not affect her pace. Dedalus began slowing slightly. She noticed and yelled, "Don't slow down!"

The guards kept looming closer and they were almost within spell range. A red beam of light missed her right ear, and Dumbledore ducked a jet of purple light she recognised as the Paralysis Curse.

"Keep running, the carpets are in sight," she urged as Dumbledore began to lag behind. He was clearly too weak to continue due to malnourishment, and Dedalus was bound to stop soon.

"We can't make the carpets, Emmeline! Plan B: we'll go for the boat instead!" Emmeline nodded but realised the boat may also be too far away.

"_Accio Boat!_" she screeched wildly. The wooden vessel twitched slightly. She thought the spell had not worked. Then, with a lurch, it came hurtling at them, anchor swinging dangerously.

Dumbledore flicked Tonks' wand, and the anchor broke off, landing in the sea with a great splash. Emmeline spluttered as the freezing water soaked her to the skin. The boat came screeching to a halt at their feet, and they scrambled into it. The mast suddenly fell as it was struck by a blue spell. Dumbledore tapped the oars. A chunk of wood was blasted off the port of the boat while a jet of yellow light just missed the starboard.

"It's going to sink, Dumbledore!" cried Tonks. "There are holes everywhere!"

Dumbledore tapped the other oar and muttered something. The boat began to levitate slightly so they were only just in reach. One of the guards grabbed onto the stern of the boat and hung in mid-air as they were lifted out of firing range. The young, brown-haired guard began struggling to swing his other hand onto the side to stabilise his swaying body. The boat began tilting dangerously to one side. The guard's eyes were swimming with fear. Emmeline could not stand the begging look. She turned away.

"Death to the Dark Arts!" cried Dumbledore and the man was blasted from the boat. Emmeline and Tonks screamed. Dumbledore watched mercilessly as he fell fifty feet into the freezing waters of the sea. The oars began spinning vigorously and drove them forward with a lurch that knocked them all off their feet.

"He'll die, Dumbledore!" cried Tonks, shocked at the blood-thirsty, pitiless glint in Dumbledore's eyes. Emmeline could not muster a word. She stared at the man she had once respected. The man who had killed another in cold blood. It was then that she realised that that man no longer existed.

"He deserves it. He orchestrated my years of torture. Azkaban will fall soon. Those who immerse themselves in such arts will receive no mercy. They are either with us, or against us."

Azkaban became smaller and smaller until it was just a stain in the distance. Despite the terrible changes in her leader, Emmeline could not help but feel a burden lift from her shoulders. They had succeeded; Dumbledore was free.

-Scene Break-

There was no mistaking why Julius Vallidus had become the Minister of Magic. He stood tall and straight, the perfect leader. His sleek black hair was parted down in the middle and matched his charcoal, emotionless eyes. His square jaw and expensive, loose-fitting robes drew attention away from his thin body. There was no hesitance in the public's eyes. On one hand there was Rufus Scrimgeour, a string of poor decisions while in charge, battle-scarred and positively frightening in appearance. On the other was this smooth, silky enigma who had risen rapidly through the Ministry. His promises of social security (including bonuses for top Wizengamot members) and post-war reuniting of the divisions of society had guaranteed a strong victory. Luckily for him, Madam Bones had refused the position of Minister as she wished to slowly lessen her workload in the years leading to retirement.

Unlike most politicians, he had kept his promises and remarkably effectively oversaw the round up of the last of Voldemort's supporters. There was disquiet among the highly-ranked Ministry officials, however. While many of the senior heads of department claimed they were in his confidence it was clear that the Minister worked alone. He made decisions without consulting a soul and even abolished the position of Senior Undersecretary without the permission of the Wizengamot. Slowly and subtly, he was broadening his span of control.

Julius wore a mask of grave defiance as he slipped into the press room. He always loathed answering the tedious questions from reporters and family heads. However, whenever an event as important as this occurred, he had no choice but to face the public and disclose the details.

He peered up at the assembled group and mentally ticked off the attendees: the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, the Malfoys, the Bones', the Diggorys, the Weasleys (who had only recently been added thanks to their son, Bill), the Smiths, the Corners, the Vaiseys, the Zabinis, the Greengrasses, the Boots, the Turpins and the Macmillans. All the prominent pureblood families were represented but there were a few empty seats. The Potter, Black and McKinnon seats had, of course, been resolutely empty for many years, and then there were the seats of the Death Eaters who had landed in Azkaban. Julius snapped out of his reverie and stood at his podium.

"I apologise for calling this meeting at such short notice, but a grave situation has arisen," said Julius slickly, his deep, clear voice ringing around the room. "Our worst fear has been realised, Dumbledore has been freed."

He stared intensely at Bill Weasley; he was sure he knew who the culprit was but did not have enough evidence to bring him in for questioning. The middle-aged Weasley stared back defiantly and betrayed no uneasiness.

"Freed? How do you know he hasn't escaped?" demanded Blaise Zabini, who had recently come into his inheritance as head of the Zabini household.

"Yes, Dumbledore certainly isn't unable. In fact, I expected him to escape the moment he was thrown in," said Amelia Bones evenly.

"I was fortunate enough to carry out a check on him a fortnight ago, he is mentally unstable. Clearly his memories have caused him to become insane far quicker than was expected."

"But still, he has powers we cannot comprehend; I don't doubt he could just blast a hole in the wall wandlessly," said Torres Greengrass and was met with a multitude of nods.

"We are not here to dispute fact," said Julius forcefully. "As a matter of fact, there _are_ eye-witnesses who saw him leave with three other individuals, but not before murdering an innocent law-enforcer." There were shocked murmurs, many did not believe that Dumbledore had tried to murder the minister in the first place, but now that he had been seen killing someone…

"Minister Vallidus, how dangerous do you consider Dumbledore? Will you be putting the Auror department on red alert?" called a small, pale Daily Prophet reporter.

"Dumbledore is the most dangerous man alive," said Julius slowly, pausing for effect. The reporters began scribbling furiously, glad for such a sellable quote.

"Aren't you going a bit overboard?" said Bill testily.

"No, consider this: Dumbledore was thought of as the greatest wizard alive a decade or so ago. Azkaban does _not_ rob you of your knowledge or skill, he is still obscenely powerful. However, now that he's powerful and delusional, there's no telling what he'll do. He may attack the Ministry or other establishments with his band of followers."

"Why on earth would he do that? What motivation would he have?" demanded old Amos Diggory.

"Revenge," replied Julius darkly. "He'd want to attack the very institution that brought justice to him. Not only that, but the guards have reported some grave news. Dumbledore is obsessed with the Dark Arts; he believes every person he meets is a dark wizard by default. One guard has been threatened with death thirty five times in a month. He is a very real menace, perhaps even greater a threat than Voldemort himself was…" The occupants of the room broke out in muttering and he was glad to see that most were convinced.

"Minister Vallidus, would it be fair to say that Dumbledore is breeding an army of Ridge-Backed Snarders to contest with the Ministry's own army of Helipaths?"

Julius wasn't amused. What was at first mildly amusing was now tedious. Luna Lovegood had grown into adulthood with the same oddities that had caused her outcast status in her school days. She was now Assistant Head of the Quibbler and caused Julius much pain at almost every press conference.

"No."

"Minister Vallidus," said a tall black woman, Angelina Johnson, "there has been some raised eyebrows in recent weeks over the security of the public. This is the second breech of Azkaban is recent history, would it be fair to say that Azkaban no longer poses difficulty for the cunning and powerful?"

"No," said Vallidus coolly, "Azkaban remains the most secure place in the world. It is highly unlikely that any wizard as powerful as Dumbledore will ever go to Azkaban, it will not happen again."

"Minister Vallidus, some have been calling for your resignation after this blunder. Do you accept responsibility for this error?"

"Firstly, latest opinion polls show an increase in public support for the Ministry at the current time. As to the Ministry's responsibility, there is none. Short of killing him, there was no way the guards could have stopped Albus Dumbledore. Any other questions?"

Not a single hand was raised. Vallidus smiled faintly – the press were too predictable. He knew that if he was completely open, the number of questions would be very limited. This is a trick he learned at the expense of Scrimgeour's conferences which sometimes ran for hours. He slipped out of the room, which was now buzzing with fierce conversation, and marched to his office in the floor above.

He tiredly slipped into his seat and reviewed the main points raised at the previous night's Inter-Departmental Meeting. He smiled slightly and tore this paper cleanly in half. There was a sharp knock on the door. Vallidus bade the person to enter.

In came a straight-backed man who wore a hood low over his face. Vallidus was glad to see him; he had been waiting for this visit for quite some time and had grown impatient. His visitor calmly took his seat across him and ran his fingers across his chin. Vallidus had been calling him 'Mick' in case there were any eavesdroppers; top-secret conversations were best left so.

"I was expecting you far earlier, Mick," said Vallidus coolly. Mick did not flinch but had the grace to look mildly abashed.

"Time has been a strain, Minister, and I apologise." The Minister betrayed not a flicker of emotion and gazed at Mick intensely.

"Do you have the information that was requested?"

"I was tirelessly searching for the answer over the past few hours, even breaking into-"

"Get to the point," snapped Vallidus. He had never been a man to waste his time listening to excuses and petty blether.

"In short, yes. Various international sources of mine have confirmed that Potter is indeed alive. They wouldn't have told anyone but me about it, by the way – they're sworn to secrecy. I believe that Dumbledore will certainly be able to track him down, Merlin only knows how. I think it's best if you approach Potter quickly before Dumbledore gets a hold of him." Vallidus was stunned by the information but made sure not to show it.

"No, I have a better idea." _I will wait for Dumbledore to smoke Potter out. When he does, I will arrange a meeting with him._

"What is it?"

"Thank you for the information, you have been most helpful to the Ministry. I will arrange dinner plans for yourself and your partner tomorrow night at The Roche as well as a small gift which should help to _ease_ tight finances." Vallidus smiled slightly as he saw Mick biting his tongue. His accomplice finally forced a smile and got up heavily.

"Thank you, Minister," he said before exiting the room.

Vallidus idly twirled a quill as he pondered on his future moves. He needed to speak with Harry Potter as soon as he came out of hiding. What he didn't know was that it would take two years for this to happen.

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	3. Intruding Ejection

**Disclaimer: **Ahem! I do not, never have done and never will own the Harry Potter series. They are the property of Bloomsbury and, apparently, Warner Bros. No money is, of course, being made. Thank you.

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**Thanks to:** Everyone who reviewed. If you asked a question that didn't spoil the plot, I would have answered it in a review reply.

**Special Thanks To:** **Daggiebel**, my wonderful and ever patient Beta. **IP82** who proved to be a strong wall to bounce ideas and chapters off of.

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_It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. – **Albus Dumbledore**_

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**Chapter One: Intruding Ejection**

**26th July 2014 – Greenford Grove**

Sirius Potter crept up to a large, mahogany door. Tentatively, he drew his wand and charmed the door open. Unsurprisingly, it was empty – he had checked his father was asleep beforehand. He silently closed the door behind him and tip-toed onwards. He heard a rattle and his heart was caught in his mouth. _It's only Hedwig._ He breathed a sigh of relief and eyed his reflection in the mirror beside Hedwig's cage.

"Mirror, how do I look?" he whispered before he could stop himself. _Damn hormones!_

"There is an unmistakeable air of rugged handsomeness about you. Your free-flowing, messy auburn hair isn't quite enough to hide that horrible long, sharp tooth dangling from your left ear. Your eyes are startling green and hold a defiant glint. Under your short, round nose lies a sneer that seemed plastered in place. You may have easily been confused for an unruly convict."

"What the-"

"You asked me my opinion, dear," replied the mirror mystically.

Sirius shot the mirror a disgusted look but stopped arguing. _Dad could wake up any minute thanks to this stupid 'top of the range' mirror,_ he thought He opened the cupboard closest to the windowsill and found what he was looking for. It was a small, open-topped basin with what looked like liquid light swirling around inside it and ancient runes around it.

Sirius masterfully tapped different rune combinations, as he had seen his father do on many occasions, and peered into the Pensieve. His finger touched the surface and he was flung into its depths.

He stared up at the deep blue sky and blinked rapidly. He took a deep breath and began strutting towards the congregation, if five people were a congregation.

Sirius instantly recognised the location. He had spent all his life at the small thatched cottage that lay before him. His father adored the house, 'simple elegance' he called it. A large, empty patio stretched out at the foot of the cottage and from it a winding path sprouted like a tributary from a river and ran the length of the garden. While he knew it was a garden, the sheer size of the green made it seem more like a field.

A stone-throw away from the patio was an assortment of wooden chairs, three on each side of a channel. He slowly approached. He had never a seen a wedding before in his life but was sure there should be more than three people, including the bride and groom.

"You're making a big mistake," said a harsh, haggard voice with a mild cockney accent from behind him. The man he recognised as his grandfather passed right through him.

Beside him was a young woman of modest beauty. She didn't look a day over twenty. Her blonde hair flowed like his; she had the same nose as him and the same long neck as well. She wore a long, white dress which did not sweep behind her for miles. The hem tickled her ankles and he could even see cute white ballerina shoes as she swept by him.

"Mum?" he whispered throatily. _Oh yeah, Pensieve._

"Oh don't be silly, papa," she said, her voice a high tinkle. "You're the one who took him in." Her father shot her an annoyed look.

"Not so 'e can go steal my only daughter like this. Who does 'e think 'e is anyway? I'm the one who taught 'im everything 'e knows! You know what's gonna happen if you marry him, Lyra…"

"I don't believe in superstitions. Just calm down, please," she pleaded as her father built up his anger. "He's a perfect gentleman and only as brilliant as his master." Her father huffed but broke into a reluctant smile after a mock glare from his daughter.

"You know I can't stay mad at you, it's not fair. You can't stop me 'aving a word with 'im though."

"As long as it's just words and you don't get your wand out. Please don't spoil this day for me."

Lyra's father sighed resignedly. "I won't."

Lyra and her father linked arms, straightened themselves out and began their journey down the aisle. Sirius followed closely behind them. He tried to lock away his emotions as he had been taught to, but to no avail.

There were no bridesmaids; magic was used to scatter petals before the bride and her father.

The pair finally reached the front where a lone figure stood. He had a shock of messy black hair and it seemed as if he tried to tame his hair fruitlessly for the occasion. _Dad. _Lyra smiled warmly at her groom and tried to flatten his hair. She giggled as it sprung back to its original position. They then clasped each other's hands.

"My parents," Sirius whispered wistfully as he took a seat at the front, "together."

His grandfather took a position between them and held his hand over the clasped hands. He began muttering a chant while waving his hand slightly from side to side.

"We witness 'ere a union. A union of magic, a union of 'earts and a union of _families_." There was a slight sneer in his grandfather's voice when he uttered the last word. His mother rolled her eyes while his father ignored it.

"Using the power of trust infused within me by both 'usband and wife, I, Pascal Prewett bond your magic together." His grandfather winced slightly as a burning flame erupted from his hand and circled the two.

"Using the power of trust infused within me by both 'usband and wife, I bond your 'earts together." Another tongue of flame erupted but this time was an electric blue and circled in the opposite direction to the red flame.

"Using the power of trust infused within me by both 'usband and wife, I bond your souls together." A final tongue of flame, yellow, appeared painfully from the palm of his hand and danced around the couple with the other flames.

"Do you, Lyra Prewett, take 'Arry Potter to be your lawful wedded 'usband?" wheezed his grandfather.

"I do," said Lyra, lost in Harry's eyes. The flames grew closer towards the couple.

"And do you, 'Arry Potter, take Lyra Prewett to be your lawful wedded wife?"

"I do," said Harry, not taking his eyes off his bride. The flames were so close to them that it seemed almost as if they were being hugged.

"Your magics, 'earts and souls are now one. You may kiss the bride." The last sentence was said with a subtle tone of resentment. The flames shot up into the sky and exploded in a shower of coloured sparks, very much like a firework display.

Sirius winced as his parents kissed. The usual cheering was absent as his mother made her way down the aisle. Harry tried to follow her, but Pascal held him back. Sirius edged closer in order to hear what they were saying.

"I've done a lot for you," he breathed warningly. "Yes, a lot, a lot. You were a stupid kid who'd almost been killed by Voldemort. _I_ saved you. _I_ took you in. _I_ trained you. _I_ let you travel with me." Harry didn't wince under the hard gaze of his father-in-law and stood his ground.

"I know and I'm thankful. But don't forget that I've saved you as well. Not just from your past but from the darkness…"

"Silence! This is about you-"

"Yes, but what would Lyra think if she knew you'd been tempted by that which she hates? What would she think if she knew you were threatening me on her wedding day?"

A silence fell between them as they stared intensely at each other. Finally they both broke away and Pascal said, "I'm not threatening you, just warning you. This marriage goes directly against the prophecy!"

"I don't care," snarled Harry. "My life's not going to get ruined by that damned prophecy. We're married and that's final!" Sirius gasped.

"But what if I'm right, eh? What if my concerns are proven right? What then?"

"If you're right," said Harry slowly, "and the prophecy does something unexpected, then you have every right to ruin my life. But now I just want to be with my beautiful wife that I love."

"Mark my words, 'Arry, if I'm right, your 'ead'll be on a pike," growled Pascal menacingly. Harry nodded slightly and caught up with his bride who was waiting impatiently for him.

The clapping faded. The whole garden seemed to dissolve and only Sirius remained in a dark void. Then suddenly the garden appeared again.

The scene here was visibly different. It was early evening, but the whole sky was covered in a blanket of clouds which cast a gloom over the garden. Rain lashed down viciously but did not deter a large crowd.

There were no chairs. A good thirty people were in a circle around…something. Sirius could not quite see what it was, but he knew from memory what was going on. He knew that these people were the witches and wizards that his mother and father had become acquainted with as they travelled over the world over the years. A part of him willed him forward. He took small, reluctant steps towards the circle.

He passed straight through a tall, lean man who was nervously twirling his wand between his fingers. The sight caused tears to flow freely from his eyes. These tears were unstoppable. Tears of grief.

His father was once again present. His grief seemed to be beyond tears. There was a distant, detached expression painted across his face. His father seemed like a different person from the previous memory. If his unkempt hair, razor-like stubble (that did a poor job of hiding his bony jaw) and shabby robes didn't portray the air of a well-travelled man, his grief-stricken startling green eyes certainly did.

Sirius looked on as his father was waving his wand and lowering a coffin into a large, neatly dug hole. The others were throwing flower after flower on top of it. The mahogany tomb had the initials 'L. P.' adorned upon it in a golden script. Finally, it reached the bottom with a soft thud. His father flicked his wand once and a mountain of earth covered the remainder of the hole.

After directing the last grain of soil, Sirius noticed his father breathing in deeply. He screwed his face in what was either concentration or pain, or both. His father jabbed his wand sharply and a grey liquid sprouted from the ground. It rose higher and higher until it was almost as tall as a small child. He began wielding his wand like an artist would his paintbrush.

At first the liquid was formless but slowly, it began to twist itself under his father's will. Sirius was grudgingly in awe at his father's mastery. Soon it was clear what had been made. There stood a single, solemn rose on a small podium – the same rose that Sirius secretly visited every Sunday evening. Once satisfied, his father jabbed his wand once more and the grey liquid solidified instantly turning the statue to stone. Sirius did not need to look at the gravestone to know what was inscribed under the rose:

_"Never forget, for she is unforgettable,_

_ Never fail, for she always succeeds,_

_ Never hate, for she always loves,_

_ Lyra Potter, she is our queen."_

Sirius's head dropped and he turned away from the grave. After paying their last respects, the crowd began to slowly disperse.

"I can't believe she's gone," said a small voice. Sirius looked up and saw his ten year old self trying to grab his father's attention. His father said nothing, though, and merely stared into the distance.

"Why do people die?" his younger self tried again.

"Everyone dies," said his father hollowly. There was a short silence before Harry finally looked at his son. "Run along to the cottage. Daddy's not in the mood."

Sirius watched his younger self hesitate before slowly dragging his feet to the cottage. He spotted his grandfather pass his younger self and affectionately ruffle his hair. Far better than the silent treatment given by his father.

"You know what I told 'er on your wedding day?" hissed his grandfather softly, grief apparent in his voice. Harry stayed silent, once again staring into the distance. They both looked soaked to the skin but did not seem to mind. Sirius was glad the rain fell straight through him.

"I said to 'er, I said: 'you're making a big mistake'," he said bitterly, tears rolling down his cheek. "She never listened to me. 'Er papa and she didn't listen! Now look where she is - dead!" He howled like a wounded wolf.

"Are you 'appy now?" he demanded, venting out his anger on the sombre man beside him. His father's right fist clenched and he breathed deeply; Sirius knew his grandfather was better off walking away. Nevertheless, he viewed the scene in horrified fascination.

"I trained you to be a 'ero. But you just thought of your own selfish needs. You went ahead with the marriage and I was right! I saw 'er death coming just like I saw your parents' deaths. They all died because of you-" That was the final straw for Harry who growled in rage and his fist met his mentor's jaw with an almighty 'crack'.

"You're not a seer, Pascal. It was a coincidence! It was a manticore for God's sake! You think I don't care? You think it doesn't hurt me that everyone close to me dies? Why'd you think I left, eh? Why'd you think I left? I'm not in the mood alright! Stay away from me!" His father stormed off leaving an embarrassed and injured man. Sirius instinctively bent over and tried to help his grandfather, but his hand passed right through him.

"I think that's enough memory travelling for you," said a calm voice from behind Sirius. His surprise was furthered as he saw his father, his currently thirty six year-old father, staring right at him while his father in the memory had just entered the cottage. "Let's go."

His arm was grabbed and he felt as if he was slowly being raised. The garden dissolved one last time and he felt as if he was performing a somersault in the darkness before a blinding light washed over him.

"Those were some emotional scenes you just saw there, Sirius," said the deep, powerful voice of Harry Potter. He could see nothing at first but as he got used to the light, the room slowly came into focus.

Despite living in the cottage all his life, Sirius had rarely set foot into this room, his father's study. The room was of a comfortable size, but the shelves of books running the length of every wall made it seem more confined and uninviting. In the tiny gaps between the shelves, the walls were painted a rich purple, remnants of better times. Times when his father didn't lock himself in his room for days, times when his father actually cared for him, times before that fateful day when Lyra was killed.

Behind the large paper-drowned desk was a single window. The stone rose stood resolutely in the distance. He did not think that it was coincidence that the only window in the room was in direct view of the tomb. He could imagine his father resting his elbow on the windowsill and spending hours thinking 'what if'.

"Take a seat, Sirius." Sirius glared at his father but grudgingly obeyed.

"Gonna play mind games with me? Gonna ask what I was doing in you study?" he challenged. Startling green eyes clashed with startling green eyes. Harry broke away, leaned back in his wooden chair and sighed.

"No, I want us to talk about what you just saw. We'll deal with why you were here later. Was the…funeral the only memory you saw?"

Sirius frowned and tried to clear his mind. "Yeah."

"I know when you're lying so there's really no point in doing it." Harry's expression was stern. Sirius felt as if his father could see right through him, his deepest secrets on show for all to see. It was one of the many things he hated about his dad.

"Legilimency is illegal! Uncle Pascal told me!" Sirius hoped this would swing the control in his favour though he doubted he had just had his memories probed.

Harry snorted unkindly. "Your Uncle Pascal is the last person to talk about things being legal; he's not even your Uncle for Pete's sake! I'm disappointed, though, I haven't used any mind reading techniques, and I thought I taught you better than that. I could see the answer plastered across your face. So what else did you see?"

"None of your business!" retorted Sirius, his arms folded indignantly.

"It's my business because it's my memories!" cried Harry, raising his arms in frustration. "Seriously, life would be so much easier if you didn't snap at me all the time."

"Life'll be better if you stop snapping at Uncle Pascal all the time!" Harry sighed; this had always been a problem since Lyra died.

"Life'll be better if he stopped snapping at me first. I mean, you saw in that memory…"

"You had no right to hit him! You always tell me to match force with equal force! Well why don't you listen to your own advice?"

"Pipe down, young man, that's quite enough," said Harry, raising his voice. He had had enough of Sirius' attitude. He had been a difficult child for three and a half years now. The only person who had any control over him was Pascal. "I've been too soft on you, I can see that now. Now tell me what other memories you saw when you came into my study _without permission_!"

Sirius' eyes narrowed until they were almost slits. Harry spotted his fists curl up in a ball and sent him a look of pure hatred. _Ignore the look_, thought Harry, _keep it assertive_.

"It was your wedding," snarled Sirius through gritted teeth.

"That was difficult, wasn't it?" said Harry sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood. He needed to win Sirius over, not drive him away completely. "That was the best day of my life, you know. You're probably wondering why there were only five people there."

Sirius made a non-committal noise while studying his nails. Harry sighed again but strived on. "Everyone was still looking for me. 'Course, they thought I was dead because of the article, but there were some who just wouldn't give up. Well, only five of your mother's closest friends were allowed to come." Harry looked up again and to his dismay Sirius was feigning sleep.

"Alright if I bore you so much," said Harry loudly and Sirius awoke dramatically with a start.

"Yeah, great story, dad. I'll just go now. I'm sure you're busy…" He got up hopefully, but after a look on Harry's face, he quickly sat back down.

There was suddenly a tapping on the window behind him. Harry was annoyed for a moment, but after a glance at the windswept tawny owl waiting for him, a small smile played at his lips.

"Excellent, just in time," he muttered as he let the poor bird in. Strapped to its foot was a large, grey box the size of a sheet of paper. There were numerous holes that had been crudely formed all around the package. Harry was disgusted at the state of his package but still paid the owl the four galleons he owed it. After receiving its money, the owl didn't hesitate to sweep out of the window.

The box suddenly shook, and Sirius, who was eyeing it with mild interest, jumped a little, startled.

"What on earth's in there?" he demanded. All he got in return was a quick, impish look.

Harry slowly, almost cautiously, tapped the box with his wand several times. As the box opened, Sirius gasped. There was a furry thing inside. As he got a closer look he spotted a mane of flaming orange fur that clashed with a black head. As the creature turned around, two wide lamp-like red eyes stared back at him. The dark ring around the eyes and crop of white hair lining its whole face gave it the look of a gaunt sage. At a guess, he would have branded it a monkey, but a set of large, brown scaly wings sprouting just above a long, thin tail made him dubious. The strangest fact was that the whole 'monkey' could probably fit quite comfortably in his hand.

"What on earth is it?" breathed Sirius as he leaned forward to examine it. "Is it some kind of monkey or something?" The 'monkey' raised its head wearily and Sirius could've sworn it had just shot him an exasperated and scornful look. Its eyes roved up and down Sirius' body before proceeding to examine the rest of the room, as if Sirius was not worthy of its attention.

"A magicologist in Congo sent me this," Harry said. "You could say it's a present for saving him last year." There wasn't a hint of arrogance in Harry's voice as he said this; his tone was indifferent. If his father had a quality that Sirius secretly admired, it was the modesty. His father was often away on travels, under disguise, and regularly saved people. Consequently, the house was full of generous tokens.

"What's a magicologist?"

"It's a person who studies magic. This particular guy is researching into magical effects on genetics. He was experimenting on primates in the Congo rainforests. Suffice to say, he was able to control the growth aspect. But it wasn't this that was the ground breaking thing…"

"Why does he play with genes? Why can't he get a proper job?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the short-sightedness of the boy before him. "If he manages to find an easy method of changing genes in animals, he can set up a business selling perfectly bred animals to Muggles. He'd make a fortune, that's for sure. Then there's the big business of strange animals. It's all about money at the end of the day."

"Well, what's the use in a monkey then? He can't sell it to Muggles and no self-respecting wizard would want it-"

"Excuse me? By Jove, I've never been so insulted in my entire life! And by a mere brat as well!" Sirius recoiled in shock, lost his balance and fell off his chair. Slightly pink, he emerged and began spluttering incomprehensibly.

"Can't even string together a sentence, the brute!" exclaimed the squeaky, dulcet, posh tones of the monkey. He sounded distinctly like a ninety-seven year old war hero.

"Welcome to my home, Nob! I'm Harry and this is my son Sirius," said Harry welcomingly, and the monkey nodded appreciatively.

"That's very kind of you, sir, very kind. May I suggest yew? It provides more flexibility and makes it hurt even more."

The monkey rose out of the box with one great flap of his wings. There he hovered while eyeing Sirius in anticipation.

"What?" said Harry, confusion lining his face.

"You are going to beat this child, are you not? I suggested yew because of its strong but flexible nature. However, if you prefer other methods I won't impose of course. I mean mahogany is a fine choice and oak certainly stings. How silly of me! You may not use canes; many folk are using belts these days aren't they-"

"Shut up! Bloody hell, this thing is annoying!" Sirius, who was staring at the hovering monkey flabbergast and irately, motioned for it to be silent.

"The cheek! Why, in my day such behaviour wasn't tolerated! Young boys were seen and not heard. Oh, I remember a day when Roger the Podger asked for another explanation from a particularly strict teacher. 'Palm out,' says the old teacher. Roger said his palm hasn't been the same since-"

Harry, too, was beginning to tire of the monkey's constant jabber. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, a sign that he was ready to use any means to shut the monkey up.

"Listen Nob, in this day and age most don't hit anymore…"

"What? What madness is this? Why, in my day-" Nob's lips were still moving, but no sound came out. Harry had quickly silenced him, wand still hidden under the table.

"Sorry, Nob, but I need to speak to my son. I'm sorry about his chatter; Augustus used his grandfather to transfer memories and personality from. Not a wise choice but hey!"

"Why the hell would you want this Nob thing?" said Sirius. Nob looked outrage and began gesturing wildly.

"While he may take a while to get used to, he's a really good companion to have. Far better than that snake you've wanted." Harry looked hopefully at his son but was slightly disheartened to find no joy in his son's expression – far from it.

"Why? I can talk to snakes just like you can. The only difference is that I can actually have a proper conversation while you pretend you're not a parselmouth."

Harry sighed again. "Snakes tend to be…they're not the best companions. All they do is moan about everything that's wrong with their lives whereas Nob here can be a good friend and his thoughts are more human. You can probably have a better conversation with Nob than with any snake." Sirius eyed Nob darkly who was only happy to return a glare.

"I don't want him! You're just guilty that I don't have any friends because you've been hiding from your past!" Harry's lips thinned, his son was swimming in dangerous waters.

"I haven't been hiding from my past, Sirius. They believe me dead. What would their reactions be if they saw me alive?"

"You're just scared they won't care about you anymore. You just think now that they think you've killed that Voldemort guy that they won't care. You think that the Boy-Who-Lived is the only reason why they liked you in the first place. And most importantly, you're terrified that they'll find out you didn't even do your job and that people will die if Voldemort returns." Harry's eyes narrowed, he had no idea how his son knew about his feelings. Had he seen more than the two scenes in the Pensieve? Had his instinctual legilimency failed him?

"We are not discussing my past; neither are we discussing friends of the past. We are discussing you and the possibility of becoming friends with Nob." Harry kept his voice deliberately calm and composed. He didn't want this conversation, like so many before it, to end up in a full-blown row.

"What's the point in _asking_ me to keep Nob? I'm gonna have to do it anyway!" said Sirius raise his voice. "I always have to do what you want anyway!"

_Here we go_, thought Harry. "I wonder why? You need to learn that I'm your father and not some teenager your age. You do what I say because I know what's best for you."

"No you don't! You're hardly ever here, always abroad. You hardly know me yet you think you think you know what's best for me. Whenever you actually decide to come home, you just order me around! Great parenting, dad!"

"You will not speak to me like that," said Harry, stern and cold. "I'm abroad making money for you! Money for you to wear the clothes you're wearing and eat the food you eat. Don't you dare claim I don't know what's best for you, Sirius Potter, because there's nobody in this world who knows what's best for you more than I do. Not even your _fantastic_ grandpa."

As if on cue, the door opened after a swift knock. In came a rugged man with broad shoulders and flaming red unkempt hair.

"You know that knocking thing?" said Harry exasperatedly. "You usually wait for the other person to answer." He was ignored, however, to Sirius' delight.

"Sirius, do you wanna come with me to a convention?"

"Definitely!" exclaimed Sirius who shot Harry a devious smile.

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of talking to him, Pascal?" said Harry warningly, his teeth gritted. Pascal had become more and more disrespectful to Harry around Sirius and he had had enough. He had promised himself that once more and he would kick out the unpredictable man.

There was another reason why he was keen to keep Sirius and Pascal apart. The older man had begun delving into the evil, forbidden branches of the Dark Arts. Harry spotted some of the books littered around the house and was not impressed. It seemed as if the passing away of Lyra had dragged Pascal beyond the line. Harry was worried for himself and his son.

"Yeah, but 'e clearly doesn't wanna speak to you," snarled Pascal and motioned for Sirius to leave. _How dare he?_ The door slammed shut with such force that a few of the books fell off their shelves. Pascal's eyes narrowed as he was unable to open it.

"You have real nerve," said Harry, fury etched across his worn face, "to do this. But no more! I've had enough."

Pascal drew himself up and gazed coldly, almost daringly at Harry, Sirius lurking in his shadow. "Do what? I asked Sirius if 'e wanted to go to a convention and 'e said yeah. I don't think 'e needs _daddy_ to choose for 'im, eh!"

"Your manipulations of Sirius end here. Is this how you get back at me? Drive my own son against me? I'm his _father_! I have a right to know where he's going! He's not even fourteen yet, let alone of age. I demand you to tell me where you wanted to take him." Harry glared intensely at Pascal who didn't blanch, one of very few people not to.

"Alright, _father_, I plan to take 'im to a talk by a man by the name o' Drudric on active Defence Against the Dark Arts."

_I've heard that name before_. Then it clicked and his expression turned to one of horror. "No way. You take me for a fool, Pascal? You want my son to grow up loving the very thing I hate, the very thing I've stood against and fought against since I was one years old? You think I don't know that Drudric is a torture specialist who teaches the most gruesome of Dark Arts? You make me sick."

"You dunno what you're talking about! I'll tell you something, there's a reason why this kid likes 'is Uncle Pascal. It's because I been there for 'im. There when you were thinking about yourself, travelling the world. Who was 'ere with 'im? Me. This kid don't 'ardly know his father. I'd 'ave thought that given your upbringing you'd know what a dad means to a kid. Well, I was wrong, weren't I?"

"Get out," said Harry softly and icily.

"Alright, but we need to sit down and talk about your problem like adults. Sirius, come on, we're leaving."

"No," said Harry, anger quivering his voice, "_get out_. I should've done this years ago. What was I thinking? Dark wizards treating _my_ house as a hotel, forbidden books lying around, brainwashing my child, giving me hell. Get out and don't come back." A silence descended upon the room and wrapped around them like an anaconda as Pascal processed those words.

"What? You can't kick out Uncle Pascal!" yelled Sirius disgustedly.

"This doesn't concern you. I'm not putting up with your behaviour. Go to your room now! It's about time I stopped playing nice." Sirius opened his mouth to argue but the door opened with such force that it flew straight off its hinges. "I said don't argue. Go to your room or else!"

"Or else what?"

Harry took out his wand and with a flick banished Sirius to his room. With another flick he locked the door with a powerful locking charm. He could here loud smashing and banging but ignored it.

"Get out! What are you waiting for? You've always said how much you hate living with me, well here's your chance!"

"You can't kick me out, 'Arry Potter, I made you! You'd be nothing without me! You'd be dead or a pathetic, weak, mediocre wizard. I MADE YOU!"

"This is my house; I can kick out whoever I want. Yes, you trained me, which I'm grateful for, but these past few years have been hell. I'm sorry, but both me and my son would be better off without you." Pascal's expression became manic and Harry was afraid he would reach for his wand.

"So that's what it's about, eh? You can't stand that your own son 'ates you and you're blaming me! I practically raised your son! I trained 'im just like I trained you! There ain't a wizard below the age of twenty in the land who could best your kid and this is 'ow you repay me? I educated him! I gave you a wife and a family - something you've always wanted!"

"And did so reluctantly to the extreme meaning of the word," said Harry, unhindered by the strong onslaught. "You've been swallowed by the darkness. I know you lost everything that night Fabian and Gideon died but there's another way!"

"No there isn't," hissed Pascal passionately. "If they weren't Dumbledore's dark-'ating fools then they'd be alive and they'd both be able to live freely. You're a fool, 'Arry Potter. Think what'd happen if you combined light and Dark Arts! Surely then we'd find a way to reawaken the dead and all our lost allies would awaken! Your mother and father, Lyra and all the Weasleys that bastard of a Dark Lord took away from me!"

"So this is what you've been trying to do all this time! Necromancy is an evil, dangerous art. It's impossible to awaken the dead, Pascal. All you'll succeed in doing is kill even more people selfishly on this impossible quest of yours! If you look to reawaken the dead, you'll never again be welcome in this cottage. You have a choice in front of you; don't make the wrong one."

Pascal gave Harry one final look. Harry saw glimpses of the old Pascal for a second, it was almost as if he was apologising in advance. It was then quickly replaced with the usual power-hungry mad glare that occupied his face. With a soft 'pop' he disappeared.

"How positively animalistic," said the squeaky voice of Nob. It seemed as if he had finally overcome the silencing charm. "You're all absolutely barmy! I tell everyone that beating's the only answer but do they listen? No, they regret it later though. I bet that old crazy chap who disappeared just then hadn't been beaten and look how he turned out."

"Shut up!" said Harry firmly and, surprisingly, the monkey held his tongue. "This is what you're going to do for me. You're going to follow my son using the invisibility gene you have. You must not be seen! For your own health, keep quiet. I want you to make sure he doesn't get himself in trouble. Primarily, that involves no contact whatsoever with that grandpa of his, you understand?"

The poor monkey looked as though he had a thousand questions, but pure terror at Harry's anger kept him silent. Harry blinked and Nob disappeared.

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	4. Blast From The Past

**Disclaimer: **Ahem! I do not, never have done and never will own the Harry Potter series. They are the property of Bloomsbury and, apparently, Warner Bros. No money is of course being made. Thank you.

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**Thanks to:** Everyone who reviewed. 

**Special Thanks To:** **Daggiebel**, my wonderful and ever patient Beta. **IP82** who proved to be a strong wall to bounce ideas and chapters off of.

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_You can never plan the future by the past__ - _**_Edmund Burke_**

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**Chapter Two: Blast From the Past**

**August 3rd 2017 – Greenford Grove**

Harry's fingers itched for the familiar, comforting sensation of a cigarette resting its body between his fingers. He reached out, but his palms met only the cool, plastic nicorette pack he had bought a week before. He closed his eyes in disgust and placed one of the chewing gums in his mouth. How he hated not being able to smoke.

Despite constant reprimands from Sirius, he smoked regularly since that fateful night his beloved wife passed away. While he had slowly gotten over her death, the habit of smoking he had picked up during his period of depression prevailed until recently. He never told anybody, but the small cigarettes were like friends to him, a constant, unwavering comfort. Strangely, they reminded him of his wife and releasing himself from their grip was almost like losing Lyra forever. It wasn't easy, of course, but after cutting down the amount he smoked slowly, he had managed to almost stop completely. All he was left with was the mildly addictive gum.

The sun set in the distance and the darkness swallowed the stone rose. He chewed harder as he thought of recent events. Sirius had grown into loping adolescence with an ever-darkening attitude. Harry knew that Sirius was suffering as a result of his own actions, and guilt consumed him daily at the very thought of it. If he hadn't gone into seclusion, Sirius would have been able to go to Hogwarts rather than the local comprehensive. If he wasn't presumed dead, Sirius would be able to associate with other young witches and wizards. If it wasn't for him, Sirius wouldn't be partying weekly with the worst teenagers in the area.

"If it weren't for you, he wouldn't be _alive,_ old chap." Harry tore his eyes away from the window and found Nob hovering in the middle of the room, face as sympathetic as it could be.

"How on earth-"

"Instincts of course! Why if it weren't for my instincts, I wouldn't have survived the summer of '39 would I? Oh, I remember it clearly! The sergeant was…" Nob trailed off at a stern look from Harry and cleared his throat loudly. "What I mean is, it was written all over your face. You've been worrying about Master Brat quite a lot recently. Now why don't you tell this old monkey why?"

Harry snorted and didn't even tell his annoying monkey off for calling his son a brat as he usually did. Ever since Pascal left, Harry was unable to leave the house for longer than a day as he needed to patch things up with his son. His constant presence managed to rile Sirius further. Harry spent many nights thinking about the future. Was this how he was going to spend the rest of his life? If it weren't for the annoying Nob, he may have gone mad.

"I'm having second thoughts about this life. It might be better for Sirius to be with people like him without having to disguise himself. I'd never forgive myself if he grows up to be a useless drunk or gets killed by drugs." Nob swooped onto his desk in one beat of his wings.

"You cannot go back," said Nob evenly. "You've tried too hard all these years to put your past behind you; do you really want to go back? Quite frankly, I think Sirius has seen enough of those his age to last a lifetime. I mean the girls he brings back! There must be one a week and none wearing anything to cover their legs! Why in my day…"

"Nob," said Harry wearily, and the monkey grimaced apologetically.

"I apologise, sir. What I mean to say is that what if your worst fear is realised? What if your friends have forgotten you or worse, are disgusted that you effectively ran away…"

"I did _not_ run away," Harry hissed angrily. Nob paced up and down the table unperturbed.

"What good is there to be gained in going back? Sirius is happy here and so are you – well most of the time anyway."

"You're right, I suppose," said Harry resignedly. "Where's Sirius at the moment? Still out?"

"Indeed. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times – a good hiding is what that boy needs, and one he'd never forget at that! Would he return at three in the morning, drunk as a rogue then? No sir!"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"It's the turkey, sir."

Harry turned back to the shelf and found his most loyal companion, Hedwig, tapping impatiently at the door of her bird cage. He quickly opened the door of the large cage. "Have a good hunt." he asked softly. Hedwig hooted and nipped his finger affectionately. He opened the window for her and was hit by a blast of hot air.

He watched as the snowy white body of his treasured owl grew smaller and smaller until it too was swallowed by the night. Harry thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye but after studying the spot for a long while, concluded it was just his imagination.

"So what have you decided?" Harry jumped slightly, he had almost forgotten about Nob as he was studying the possibility of a disturbance.

"About what?"

"The future," sighed Nob, shaking his small head.

"I'll… stay here but I might create an alias to keep up with the wizarding world; I've become out of touch…"

_Entrance requested…dark scan complete…result: negative. _

Harry smiled wryly as his own voice rang through the house. He sometimes couldn't help, deep down inside, but to feel smug at his own magical prowess. While others may have struggled with complicated wards, all Harry had was an anti-apparition ward and a ward he had invented it involved a scan of the person's magic, dark wizards were not allowed in and neither was anyone else who hadn't been given permission.

"Permission granted," said Harry loudly. "That must be the earliest Sirius has ever come home after going out. I'm going to go talk to him."

Harry strode out of the room and made for the hall. He had a speech ready for his son, which he had been preparing ever since the afternoon.

"Sirius, well do- what the hell?" Harry's eyes widened in surprised as a tall, thin figure dressed from head to toe in white stood at the door. The person had a pointed white hood over his head which cast a shadow over the face. Had the robes not been a dazzling white, Harry would have thought it was a Death Eater or a Dementor.

"Who the bleeding hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?" said Harry sharply, his wand drawn. His surprise turned to anger as his reply came in the form of a bludgeoning hex. Harry parried it wordlessly, causing it to hurtle into a vase, which exploded into millions of minute pieces. He jabbed his wand and thin flame wrapped itself around his attacker's ankles. His attacker's wand moved so quickly Harry almost didn't see it. The flame unwound itself, became a small black ball and pelted at Harry who ducked. It came straight back at him like a Bludger. Harry jabbed his wand and it exploded into tiny fragments.

Harry conjured a small terrier, which distracted the intruder long enough for him to send a powerful paralysis curse at his torso, perhaps too powerful. The cloaked attacker was thrown through the air and landed with a dull thud against the doorframe.

"So, you thought you could off me, did you?" said Harry softly. "Are you one of Pascal's 'friends'? 'Cause if you are, then you've just handed me the proof I needed…" Harry smiled coolly and bent over the twitching body. He spotted a small red phoenix stitched on the collar of the white robe. Harry pulled back the hood roughly and gasped in shock.

It couldn't be, it just couldn't. But there was no mistaking the long nose, freckles, sea blue eyes and short flaming red hair. Harry backed away slowly. "It can't be…Ron?"

Ron's eyes worried Harry. One minute they were dull and lifeless, like a corpse, the next they seemed to explode with emotion as they seemed to pop out of their sockets. It was almost as if he had been awakened.

Fixed in the one position on the floor, his eyes told the whole story. Harry's heart pounded furiously. Should he cast a memory charm on him? Did Ron want to kill him? How had he found about his location? What was this strange transformation? Harry's mind was spinning with questions. He released his former best friend from the curse.

Ron's face was a picture of confusion. He glanced horrified at Harry before running out of the door. Harry stood transfixed for a second before running after him. He had to find out how he found the house at least. "WAIT!"

He raced across the field and gained on him. _What am I doing_, thought Harry. He cast a quick stunning charm, which struck Ron between the shoulder blades. Soon he had his old friend unconscious and fixed in place on the couch in the living room. Harry settled himself into his favourite armchair by the fire before reversing the effects of the spell.

In the light, Harry could see Ron's face in its entirety and was mildly surprised. While his freckles and long nose were still the same as ever, the rest of him had changed almost completely. His fuller face sported a multitude of faint scars, some of which hidden by the scarlet stubble invading much of his lower face. But it wasn't the fact that half of his right ear was missing that startled Harry the most, neither was it the uncharacteristically pale skin. It was the dull, weary mist that shrouded his previously emotion-filled blue eyes.

"H-Harry? I don't believe it…b-but…you're dead," he spluttered and tried to get out of the couch, his face ashen. Harry suppressed the mass of different emotions that threatened to sweep over him and let out a long breath. _Just find out how he got in, wipe his memory and let him be on his way_, thought Harry evenly.

"How did you find my house?" said Harry calmly. Thoughts of his past threatened to overwhelm him. Times when he, Ron and Hermione roamed the corridors of Hogwarts and plotted ways of foiling Voldemort's plans. Times when they begged Hermione to help them with their homework. Times when he looked forward to going to Burrow and wanted nothing more than to spend all his time with the Weasleys. Times when Ginny hadn't been murdered…. _No,_ thought Harry forcefully, _I've fought too hard; I can't let myself get caught up in this again, not after I've worked so hard._

"But Harry…I mean, is it really you?"

"Answer the question," said Harry sharply. He knew he had to keep as detached emotionally as possible.

Ron's expression darkened suddenly as the shock of seeing his best friend again died away. "You've got some nerve," he hissed, breathing like an enraged bull. "So all this time when everyone was mourning over you and crying over, you you've been hiding here? Have you got any idea what you put everyone through? Let me go, I'm going to kill you!"

Harry flinched slightly at Ron's rage. "Answer the question," he said. "How did you find my house?"

"Don't you know what you did to all our friends, you bloody git? She's never been the same since that night you ran away, you filthy coward!"

"Don't call me that," said Harry tensely. "Now answer my question."

"You don't care, do you?" screamed Ron, enraged. "Did you just laugh at Ginny's dead body? Did you think it was hilarious that you single-handedly destroyed Remus' will to live in one night? Or hysterical that you broke Dumbledore's spirit? Were you just hiding here like a little pussy?"

"You don't understand. You'd never hope to understand," said Harry despite himself.

"I almost hope You-Know-Who had killed you and good riddance! We-I've been working hard fighting all these years and where were you? Where were you when Hagrid died? I didn't see you at Charlie's funeral, either. What about Dean, McGonagall, Cho, did you say goodbye to any of them? No! You were too busy up here feeling sorry for yourself, weren't you! You turned your back on us like a slimy Slytherin! You're no better than You-Know-Who!"

Harry sighed melancholically. In a way, he _was_ no better than Voldemort. He knew of the death of Hagrid, his first ever friend, Charlie who'd instantly accepted him as family, Dean who provided the Gryffindor common room with laughter and beautiful drawings, McGonagall who was determined to help make Harry something of himself and Cho, his first kiss. He knew, but he had to work to bring Voldemort down in secret; there was no way he could have hunted for horcruxes with the press on his back.

"To answer your question," Ron continued, "I don't bloody know. One minute I was talking to Dumbledore, the next I'm on the floor and you're next to me. At first I thought it was a trick of some Dark Wizard's. Little did I know I was dealing with something just as bad, a little cowardly traitor! You're no better than Wormtail!"

Harry was stung and clenched his fists; Ron had gone too far. "Don't you dare compare me to that rat," he hissed icily.

"Why? Afraid of the truth? You're a cowardly rat, just like Wormtail. Sirius is probably turning in his grave…"

"DON'T YOU DARE!" roared Harry and he stood suddenly to his feet. The lights in the house died out suddenly and the windows exploded in a shower of glass. For the first time Ron wore an expression of fear. "Don't you think what happened that night ate away at me? I spent years grieving for Ginny. You can't even comprehend the guilt that consumed me; I knew I could've stopped her death. You don't think I've suffered? Living with the very thought of it was unbearable!"

"Why didn't you come back?" asked Ron. Harry fell back into his detached state as he exhaled.

"I couldn't. Why are you working for someone as crazy as Dumbledore?"

"You couldn't? You pathetic piece of shit! Of course you could!" Ron's fear had disappeared and anger was brewing once more.

"Answer my question," said Harry coldly.

"Because he's not a coward that runs away from his problems! Because he's the only guy we've got left! Why didn't you come back when you heard about Dumbledore getting put in Azkaban?"

"I had my own issues to deal with," said Harry softly.

"Issues!" snorted Ron. "For the love of Merlin! We all had our issues! What makes _your_ issues special?"

"I had a family to raise if you must know," said Harry coldly.

"A family?"

"Yes, I have a son who I have to raise alone due to the fact my wife is dead. Is that okay with you? Or am I not allowed to have a life other than saving the idiotic wizarding world? I owe all of you _nothing._ Now answer my questions or I'll obliviate you now and send you along your way-"

"Why'd you run away in the first place?" interrupted Ron, his voice a mere whisper.

"I didn't run away," said Harry. "I was kidnapped." He sighed and the lights came on and the pieces of glass flew back together and interlocked perfectly like a jigsaw.

"Y-kidnapped?"

"Yes, kidnapped. So now you know the truth. I didn't run away, I was taken away." Ron stuttered for a moment as he processed the information.

"Who kidnapped you? How come you didn't escape? I don't see any kidnappers here." Harry walked over to the fireplace and extracted a pack of cigarettes from the mantle. He knew it was wrong, he knew it undermined his efforts, but his desire couldn't have been higher. He fumbled for a lighter and found it in his shirt pocket. One puff was enough for him to relax completely, his troubles temporarily dulled. How he missed that feeling. He collapsed back into the armchair and finally looked up at Ron.

"Since when do you smoke?" asked Ron, his nose crinkled in disgust.

"Since my wife died." Harry watched bitterly as anger turned to humility.

"Oh, sorry. Look, we're acting like children," said Ron evenly, completely in charge of his emotions now. "Shouting at each other will do nothing to ease the situation. Please, even if it's just to stop the shouting, can tell me what happened to you?" Harry stared into Ron's eyes and tried to delve into his mind. He was met with carefully constructed barriers. Withdrawing quickly before being detected, Harry considered. _Perhaps I could use his help…and if not, all I have to do is obliviate him._

"I s'pose I may as well tell you the whole story," decided Harry after exhaling once more. "I was taken by Pascal that night."

"But Pascal's in the Ord-"

"Shut up and let me finish," snapped Harry, not wanting continual interruptions. Ron thankfully held his tongue and Harry continued. "Well, Pascal was actually…willing to train me because of…an Unbreakable Vow." He remembered that Pascal was related to Ron and felt it was perhaps not appropriate to reveal his former tutor's surname. "Well I was grieving at the time and kept trying to escape until something happened that helped me get over the guilt…I fell in love with Pascal's daughter.

"I had to keep my feelings secret at first of course. Pascal didn't like me from the go. If it weren't for reasons outside of his control, he wouldn't have bothered training me. I tried to escape from him so many times but he always caught me. Finally, circumstances led to a decision on my part to stay. I got stronger and stronger over the years, maybe too strong. But I knew I had to kill Voldemort…"

"He's dead Harry, you killed him," said Ron flatly. Harry laughed bitterly and took another long puff.

"If only. No, he's out there still, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to reappear. I didn't kill him, but I guess nobody'll believe me now, eh? Well, back to story. So I began travelling the world with Pascal and his daughter, Lyra. While on the surface I pretended I was extremely interested in the foreign magic, my real quest was to find clues as to Voldemort's whereabouts. After ten years of searching, I realised that if Voldemort didn't want to be found, I won't find him; the world's too big. It was 'round about then that I'd become just as good as Pascal and he didn't like it one bit. Then of course something happened that made him hate me forever; I proposed to Lyra.

"He was always fiercely protective of her and secretly had a deal struck with a friend of his; Lyra was meant to marry someone else. When he found out I was the reason why she ran away at the wedding, he was furious. We got married anyway and had a son, Sirius. Then…she died…" Harry coughed violently. He was glad to see that Ron was less irate than before.

"Well, the rift between me and Pascal only grew after that until he moved out a couple of years ago. So I've been searching for clues on Voldemort and even spoke to a lot of his old school friends. I don't think anyone other than Voldemort himself knows more about him than I do. I have to kill him. Alone. That's the way it was meant to be."

"But why couldn't you have come out of hiding and visited, even if was only for a bit. Why stay away?" Harry chuckled dryly.

"At first I couldn't, Pascal wouldn't let me. But after that…well I guess something always came up when I planned to return. I was also…busy. I had a lot of things to do that could only be accomplished by stealth."

"Like what?" asked Ron.

"I can't tell you that, Ron. No offence, but I've got no guarantee that you won't run off and tell all my secrets. What caused those deaths, by the way?"

"Mainly former Death Eaters who've lost everything. They attacked randomly, they wanted revenge. But lately they've become more focussed, less haphazard. We think they've got a new leader. There've been rumours over the past couple of years, Harry. We think…we think there might be a new Dark Lord."

"Pascal…" breathed Harry.

"What?" asked Ron quickly.

"N-nothing. Has there been a change in the type of attack?"

"Well it's either an individual murder, like Cho's, or it's a massacre of Muggles. The Ministry's been working overtime trying to hide it from the Muggles and wizarding public. There has been a correlation though. All the magical people that died had something to do with you, Harry."

Harry's mind was ticking. Clearly, Pascal was murdering people in order to try and hurt him. Who would be next? Would he even go as far as to harm his own grandson? He needed to protect these people. He couldn't stay hidden and allow them to get killed; that's just what Pascal would want. But at the same time, he needed to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes. _It's not like I've had much luck with them recently anyway_, thought Harry. He flicked his wand and the couch released Ron.

"Alright, how the hell did you find out about me being alive?" asked Harry directly.

"A new recruit called Pascal DuPont found out where you lived. He said he's been working on your case for years…"

"Wait – Pascal DuPont did you say? Is he quite burly with red hair?"

"Funnily enough, yeah." _If Pascal's told Dumbledore about Greenford Grove, there's no way I can stay hidden. Better to return voluntarily than to be ratted out by that bastard…_

"I've made a decision. I'm going to reveal myself to the public in exactly a week. Before then, I'll allow people to see me here and there. Ron, I want you to arrange a meeting between myself and the Minister."

"I'm not your servant," said Ron bitterly. "I may have forgiven you for running away but I'm not your terrier!"

"You're the only one who can do this, obviously," said Harry calmly. "Tell Dumbledore that I'll meet him on Tuesday. I'll require an explanation from him as to why he sent you here to kill me and how Voldemort managed to set him up when he's meant to be in hiding."

"Erm, Harry," said Ron uncomfortably, "Dumbledore's not exactly with it anymore…"

"What! Are you trying to tell me that the papers are right? Are you trying to tell me that Dumbledore couldn't survive Azkaban when Sirius could?"

"Well…"

"This isn't the time for that, anyway. I'll try and sort this out soon enough. Just arrange a meeting between us in the Hog's Head or wherever he's hiding. I need to talk to him above all others."

"I'm not sure you do," said Ron uneasily.

"Unfortunately _I_ am," exclaimed Harry sharply. "Now I don't want you to tell anyone but Dumbledore and the Minister about me yet. Damn, this is happening too quickly. Just make sure Dumbledore's free on Tuesday."

"You really don't wanna see him," said Ron. "He's…he won't want to see you."

"Don't lie to me," said Harry quietly. "Why won't he want to see me? I'll snap him out of his stupidity."

"Well, he's a busy man," snapped Ron, getting up swiftly. "As am I. I can't stay here and chat, some of us have work. You can call in by Floo if you want. Saying 'Ronald Weasley's House' will be enough. I'll try and talk to the Minister, alright? Now, I have a busy schedule and I'm late for keeping up with it. I'll see you around, Harry." He stormed from the room like a petulant child, and Harry made no move to stop him. He knew what had to be done would be done; human curiosity guaranteed it.

"Interesting…" muttered Harry. He spat the butt of his cigarette into the fire and watched it shrivel up before disappearing. He instantly felt terrible. Not only had the harsh reality of the world he had been avoiding struck him, but he had smoked again. His fingers itched for another one, but before this urge controlled him, he flung the pack angrily in the dying embers of the fire. _I hate Sundays_, he thought.

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_I'm honestly very close to dropping this whole project – not because I'm getting bored with it but because it seems like hardly anybody is reading it. If you want this to be continued, please let it be known in a review – if not, this could well be the last chapter until people start getting interested in this. If you want me to try a different fic because this one doesn't take your fancy, let that be known as well._


	5. The Headmaster of Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: **Ahem! I do not, never have done and never will own the Harry Potter series. They are the property of Bloomsbury and, apparently, Warner Bros. No money is, of course, being made. Thank you.

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**Thanks to:** Everyone who reviewed. It was such a wonderful response that I felt compelled to continue. More responses like that would be greatly appreciated :wink:

**Special Thanks To:** **Daggiebel**, my wonderful and ever patient Beta. **IP82** who proved to be a strong wall to bounce ideas and chapters off of.

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_If pessimism is despair, optimism is cowardice and stupidity. Is there any need to choose between them?__ - _**_Francis P. Yockey_**

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**Chapter Three: The Headmaster of Hogwarts**

**14th August 2017 – Ministry of Magic**

Harry trod the burnished marble corridor he wished never to see again. As he had planned, curiosity bested Ron, and Harry was able to arrange a meeting with Minister Vallidus. Harry had heard nothing but praise of Vallidus from his subscriptions of newspapers over the past few years; it was almost unsettling. The wizarding world never could appoint a good leader for itself. Harry, under a different guise, sped down a final flight of stairs.

A week had passed and Ron was able to pull a few strings and regulate the contents of the article explaining Harry's return to the fold. While the article had been neutral in every way, mass hysteria had struck the wizarding world on its Achilles' heel. Harry had spent the majority of the past days creating powerful anti-owl wards around his home. However, this did not stop hundreds of owls from presiding just outside the fifty metre barrier. There were calls for him to show himself publicly, but he feared for his own health at the hands of a stampede. Instead, readers had to believe the photos.

A week had passed and he still hadn't been able to meet with Dumbledore; Ron had stood firm. From what he was able to gather, almost nobody had heard wind of Dumbledore. Mind swimming with thoughts, he knocked on a large yew door, the entrance to the Minister's office, before entering. He quickly ran his wand over his face and removed the disguising charm.

The first feature that struck Harry was the gargantuan window scaling the length of the far wall depicting the false scene of a serene field on a warm summer's day. Harry tore his eyes away from the window and met a pair of small, mean yellow eyes in a dark corner. He blinked but the eyes were still there. Harry couldn't quite see what the eyes were attached to; the corner was far too dark.

"I see you, like myself, are captivated by the marvels of the black panther," said a smooth voice. "How could something so vicious and efficient also prove to be a loyal, beautiful pet?" Harry glanced to left and found a neat, commanding man sitting behind a clean desk. He approached it and shook hands with the Minister.

"I'm glad you were able to meet with me at relatively short notice, Minister Vallidus," said Harry calmly as he took his seat. He frowned slightly as he noticed his chair was visibly smaller than that of the Minister.

"The pleasure is all mine and, please, call me Julius. Harry Potter, I have heard so much. If half the stories are to be believed, I am in the presence of a great wizard indeed. Word reached me in New Zealand of your various exploits; I confess it saddened me when you were reported dead." Vallidus stared at him intently while speaking and Harry felt very much like he was being scanned thoroughly; it was distinctly disconcerting.

"If half the stories were to be believed I am a psychopathic, deranged, dead, attention-seeking lunatic," said Harry tensely. Vallidus' thin pink mouth drew into a small smile.

"Indeed, the press are rather ravaging and rampant, are they not?" Once again Harry had the feeling that he was being cross-examined; it seemed more like a holding cell interview than a formal meeting.

"Luckily you've escaped from them, haven't you? From what I've read you're the best Minister in a long time." The false smile worn by Vallidus drew ever larger.

"Though I have not heard of your excellent manners," he said slowly. "I wonder if you would dare share with me the story of your life since your disappearance." He leaned forward slightly and titled his head slightly to one side. He held an air of confidence which tempted Harry to gush all his deepest darkest secrets. It was clear why he was the Minister.

"It was nothing spectacular," lied Harry smoothly. "I travelled the world to further my knowledge of magic and looked for something fulfilling to do with my life. I found it in my wife, who passed away a couple of years ago, and my son. Since then I've been content staying at home and looking after him." Harry skipped out any detail on purpose, he was not in the habit on trusting people he had only just met, especially those that kept deadly predators as pets.

"You know," he continued, "ever since my various run-ins with Fudge, I'd never been able to trust the Ministry. However, close friends of mine have informed me that you're dong great things here. I'd be delighted to hear some of the things you've been doing first-hand – that is, if it's alright with you."

"Of course," simpered Vallidus with a smile. "On the subject of education, I realised that those of a magical background did far better than those of …non-magical parentage. Therefore we have implemented a special summer orientation course in order to bring Muggleborn students up to scratch. I'm glad to say that it has worked wonderfully well thus far."

"Have you ever thought of obliging pureblood children to learn Muggle Studies?" asked Harry quickly.

"No," said Vallidus, "but those from a pureblood background have a very small chance of having contact with the non-magical community. However, education has only recently become a factor. After Voldemort disappeared, there was a good deal of reshuffling to be done."

"I can imagine," said Harry, his respect for the Minister rising a notch at the use of Voldemort's name. "Though, if all the Death Eaters have been captured, what was the problem? Oh, of course, sympathisers."

"Indeed. A good portion of the Wizengamot had been bribed or had some contacts with relatives of convicted Death Eaters. There was immense segregation and bitterness. Those who played no part in the war were being persecuted and regular fighting broke out between relatives of those who had lost their lives. We began to take a hard line on these acts of violence and thankfully it has lessened immensely, though I will not be foolish enough to say that harsh words are not exchanged behind closed doors.

"There are menial laws that have been passed which I will not bore you with-"

"I'd like to be bored with them," said Harry. He knew exactly what the Minister was talking about from his subscriptions to various newspapers over the years, but he wanted to judge the man on his truthfulness.

"The retirement age was raised as some of working age had been killed but those working in highly stressful Ministry jobs were allowed earlier retirement. Larger bonuses have been introduced for highly ranked and veteran Ministry personnel.

"Multiculturalism has been encouraged after the war with laws passed to give werewolves and centaurs more rights and muggleborns are finally allowed to open family vaults if they so desire."

Harry nodded; the Minister spoke the truth. "What are you going to do about Dumbledore?" he asked.

"Albus Dumbeldore is the most dangerous wizard alive as I've said before. Half the Auror squad is assigned to tracking him down, the details of which I'm not at liberty to divulge."

"He's not the most dangerous wizard out there," said Harry darkly. "Those murders these past couple of years weren't done by Dumbledore. There's a new threat, you may know of him, a man by the name of Pascal Prewett." Vallidus leaned back on his chair and furrowed his brow. He ran his hand across his cheek.

"Pascal Prewett…Prewett…ah! Is he perchance related to Molly Weasley and the late Alice Longbottom? Yes, of course he is. But Ministry records have classified him as dead…"

"He's been alive all these years under false aliases. Over the years, he's become more and more evil and twisted. I promise you he's a much more deadly enemy than Dumbledore will ever be; he has no morals."

Vallidus shook is head wearily. "No. Power is the key here. There is no way this Prewett is anywhere near as knowledgeable and powerful as Dumbledore, no matter how tainted his soul may be."

"I assure you he's extremely capable, as capable as me I'd say." Vallidus appeared interested, but Harry could see straight through the mask; the Minister did not care. Dumbledore was the only concern of his and no words of Harry could change that. A silence fell between them as each became immersed in his own thoughts.

"I'm surprised you've indulged this much to me and I'm thankful," Harry said, finally breaking the silence.

"As you may know, Madam Bones recently retired as Headmistress of Hogwarts following her second stroke in a year. I have been too busy running the Ministry of late; this Dumbledore affair has meant I have been neglecting my duties involving appointing the next Head of Hogwarts."

"But the board of governors are in charge of the Headmaster or Headmistress," said Harry, "including appointing a new one."

"Until very recently, Harry," said Vallidus softly. "The Board at Hogwarts have proven themselves to be incompetent time and time again. If it weren't for my intervention, they would have fired Madam Bones last year because she expelled a student whose father has a seat on the board. Corruption has run riot on it and by tomorrow evening it will no longer exist. The Wizengamot and I will oversee the running of Hogwarts and any major incidents will be dealt with by the courts. The Wizengamot members have been kind enough to trust me with Headteacher appointments following the supreme success of Madam Bones.

"Of course, at this moment in time, the school is not quite as organised as one would have hoped. I have heard from many that your home _was_ always Hogwarts…"

"You want to make me Headmaster?" said Harry though he could not pretend he was surprised. _He probably wants my support._

Vallidus smirked slightly. "Well, yes. Your immense popularity coupled with your unquestionable ability and loyalty to the school makes you the perfect candidate."

"You think I'm popular after running away?" snorted Harry. "Also, I don't have an ounce of experience. What am I supposed to do? Waltz in there and give out orders?"

"All the public care about is that you rid the world of the Dark Lord. They don't care if you ran away! The truth is, every parent in the country wants their child to go to the same school which the good, great 'Vanquisher' presides over. As to your other questions, there is a historical fact that makes you ideal for the job; you happen to be the last, however distant, descendent of Godric Gryffindor."

Harry did not even blink; Pascal had long forced him to look up his family line and he had found Godric Gryffindor as one of them. But did he want to become Headmaster? Did he want to go back to Hogwarts? Then he thought of Sirius; he might not take to the idea. Did he really need to give the boy another reason to hate him? But the mystical pull of the castle on him was great. Ever since he had decided to come back he knew he dearly wanted to visit Hogwarts; it was his home. Would it really be a bad thing if he became headmaster? Even though it may not tickle his fancy, Sirius needed the company of wizards and witches his age. It would also allow Harry the clout he needed to continue with his research…

"If you want to talk money, the rewards are grand," said Vallidus softly. "If the guaranteed salary of 20,000 galleons does not tempt you then the performance related bonuses will, I'm sure."

"I'm not interested in the money, but I think I will…wait a minute, what'll you get in return?"

Vallidus chuckled dryly. "Astute, not a trait your younger self possessed in vast quantities if people are to believed. Well what I want is simple, your support and advice. I am not arrogant enough to suggest I can run the Ministry without help despite what heads of departments may be murmuring. More specifically, I need your full support in the fight against Dumbledore. You have knowledge about him none can match and if the rumours are true, he loved you like the son, or grandson, he never had. You could be a means to snap him out of his crazed trance."

"And to what, err, extent would I be supposed to support the Ministry?" asked Harry shrewdly.

"Ah yes, I heard of your spat with Fudge all those years ago. You need not worry; I will make you neither a poster child nor a scapegoat. It simply means you would make it be known that you back Ministry law if asked directly by reporters and such."

"If I don't agree with it," Harry began warningly.

"Then by all means scream your displeasure from the highest tower of Hogwarts. I pride myself on facing any problems head on rather than sweeping it under the carpet. But do only this for me; if you dislike Ministry actions, talk to me about it before anyone else. After all, complaining about a problem will not make it go away as you very well know." Harry sat back in his chair for a moment and considered. Had his younger self been told that he would be offered Headmastership of Hogwarts before turning forty, he would have been ecstatic but there were so many factors to take into account. _I suppose I can talk Sirius into it later…_

"Alright then, I accept."

Vallidus smiled broadly and clapped his hands together. "Excellent. I'm sure you'll become the best Headmaster Hogwarts has ever known. Now, let's talk about your salary. Legally, I need to fill in this contract of employment and the Headmaster salary is constantly changing. Dumbledore was paid 20,000 galleons a year while Madam Bones was already earning that at her old job so was paid 30,000 galleons. You say you care not about money but I have to admit, the public and Wizengamot will expect your salary to exceed both and perhaps double-"

"I'll take 30,000 galleons a year," said Harry shortly.

"Excellent," said Vallidus while writing a figure on the contract. "You need to sign here."

Harry's eyes narrowed. He knew better than to sign a contract without reading its contents. "Don't take offence that I need to read the contract first," said Harry. Vallidus gave a look that said he did not care so Harry meticulously studied each and every line. Once satisfied, he signed on the dotted line and wrote the date. The parchment heated up after he signed and two copies were made.

"This is for you," said Vallidus whilst handing him one of the copies, "this is for Ministry records and this is for Hogwarts records. Do you want me to accompany you to Hogwarts?"

"No," said Harry, "blessed as I am, I still remember where Hogwarts is and the various classrooms."

"You have two jobs to do almost immediately," said Vallidus, ignoring Harry's sarcastic comment. "Firstly, you need to appoint a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Secondly, you need to appoint a Herbology teacher. There are also vacancies for Deputy Headmaster, Head of Gryffindor and Head of Hufflepuff. Unfortunately, there are no former Hufflepuffs in the staff so it may be prudent to seek one for one of the two posts.

"You will be required to address some worried parents and the staff at Hogwarts. In addition, there are certain new students that you, or one of your staff, will be required to attend to. While you are at liberty to bend the Hogwarts system to your will, I would advise against it. I believe the current system works very well and any changes would bring the wrath of the press onto you."

"I don't care about those shallow twats," said Harry coolly. "If that's all, I'll be getting to Hogwarts now."

"Oh, before I forget, the Hogwarts board of Governors will want to meet with you today."

"But I thought you said-"

"They will be abolished _tomorrow_. At the present time, they legally have power over the school and therefore you will have to meet with them. I apologise."

"Fine. Can I use your fire?"

"Yes. I shall correspond with you in due course. Until then, goodbye and enjoy your new job." Harry stood up and made his way to the elaborate fireplace. He picked up a handful of floo powder from the floo pot.

"Bye," said Harry shortly. "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts!" In a flash of green flames he was gone.

Harry arrived in an office almost identical to that of Dumbledore's all those years ago. The only difference was that all the expensive instruments were gone and the furniture was empty. _That'll soon change._

He climbed up the stairs to the private quarters and was pleasantly surprised. There was a very large, extravagant four-poster bed and an ornate bedside table. There was enough room to fit a whole class of students. He tried his bed and found it was the most comfortable thing he ever had the pleasure to lie down on. Now he knew why Dumbledore was constantly smiling.

He sadly removed himself from the bed and opened one of two doors on the far side of the room. One was a wardrobe with a set of elegant robes already occupying most of the space and the other was a bathroom akin to the one the prefects shared. Instead of a mermaid, however, there stood a large stone phoenix at the head of the swimming pool-sized bath.

Grinning from ear to ear, he left the room and returned downstairs to the main office. His smile was wiped off his face when he realised he was not alone.

"Well, well, the great 'vanquisher' has returned," sneered an unmistakeable voice. A familiar pinched face stared back at him. He was glad to see that Draco Malfoy had become more pale and gaunt as time wore on. The blonde hair had retracted, leaving his permanent leer far more visible. In stark contrast, his robes, made of the finest silk, were jet black and lined with luxurious silver.

"While you may take joy in childhood grudges and petty name-calling, I have moved on and will only ask you what the hell you're doing in this office."

"I could ask you the same question," hissed Malfoy, his eyes narrowed to slits and his hand dangerously close to his wand pocket.

"_I_ happen to be the Headmaster of Hogwarts," said Harry, unable to keep the smirk from his face, "and I live here. So last time I checked, I have more right to be in here than you."

"That's preposterous, Potter," sneered Malfoy. "Who in their right minds would make _you_ Headmaster?"

"Minister Vallidus," retorted Harry. He averted his attention from Malfoy as if he was not interesting enough to capture his attention and began checking the many drawers in the table.

Malfoy's face paled further at the realisation, but his face contorted with rage. "The Minister wouldn't make an inexperienced and pathetic wizard like you Headmaster. Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

"As charming as this is, I don't have time to engage in petty banter with a broken and twisted little man." Harry continued delving amongst the many dusty artefacts forgotten by Headmasters of the past. He picked up what looked like a small foe-glass and examined it closely.

"How dare you! _Juruio_!"

Harry lazily twirled his wand and silently cast a pale green shield which absorbed the purple spell with apparent ease. "I have to warn you, Malfoy," said Harry softly, "that the next time you attempt to harm me, I _will_ take action. Now tell me what you're doing in my office unsupervised in the middle of the summer holiday."

Malfoy's face twisted into a triumphant leer. "Because, Potter, I'm the Head of the Board of Governors! And I'll make sure you're fired if it's the last thing I do!"

"Lovely," said Harry, battling against a triumphant smile of his own, "I look forward to it. Now be a good little wizard and call a meeting, will you?" He put down the foe-glass and traced the runes around a small goblet.

"The Board are already in meeting you fool. You watch, you don't have Dumbledore to protect you anymore…"

"How very boring," said Harry finally. "Now get out of my office."

"No-"

"I'm going to give you three seconds to get out-"

"You have no power over me, Potter. Running away like a coward-"

"One."

"-gave you a false sense of security. What you're soon going to realise-"

"Two."

"-is that you're not the perfect little hero anymore."

"Three. What _you're_ going to realise is that I don't threaten; I keep my promises." Harry jabbed his wand at Malfoy so quickly that the blonde man had no time to react. In the blink of an eye, Malfoy disappeared in a puff of green smoke. _I hope he likes sewage works,_ though Harry.

Satisfied, Harry searched his wand, hoping to find something similar to the Marauder's Map.

"If you want to find out where the Board of Governors are meeting," said the bored voice of Phineas Nigellus, "then you'd better ask us. We portraits are here to help you find out everything that's happening in the castle." Phineas sounded as if he sincerely did not want to tell him this but something was forcing him to. Harry noticed that all the other former Headmasters and Headmistresses were either dozing or missing from their portraits.

"Thanks. Can you go find out where the Board of Governors is meeting?"

Phineas snorted unkindly. "Ha! That's what they get when they employ such a young man in a position of such importance. The Board always have and always will convene in the Great Hall during the summer. However, I advise you not to dis-"

Harry did not hear the last part and made his way swiftly to the Great Hall. When he reached the Entrance Hall, an idea struck him. He tapped his wand on his own head and rendered himself invisible. Silently, he made his way through a small gap in the double door and found a dozen people congregated around the Ravenclaw Table. He edged closer and listened in to the conversation.

"What's taking Malfoy so long?" snapped a woman with long, tawny hair and dark eyes he recognised as Lavender.

"It's not as if we need him here; let's just continue," snapped a tall, dark man he vaguely remembered as a Slytherin by the name of Blaise Zabini.

"What're we going to do about this problem?" snapped an old, bald man. "Middle of August and we haven't appointed a Headmaster! The _Daily Prophet's_ already calling for the Board to be abolished! If it got out that we haven't even got a shortlist…"

"You know my opinion on this matter," said the unmistakeable figure of Bill Weasley.

"Harry Potter can't be Headmaster you idiot!" snapped Zabini. "We're not even sure if the Daily Prophet's telling the truth. He hasn't exactly made an appearance…"

"And he's far too young," agreed the old, bald man.

"Then who? Someone else come up with a bright idea!" snapped Bill.

"Why don't we let the Minister decide," said a man with a shaggy grey beard.

"Because we don't want the Ministry to interfere more than is necessary. What about Sprout?"

"She only just retired this year," said Bill, "she's not going to come back to take up an even more stressful job."

"We're fast running out of options. What about Horace Slughorn?"

"He's practically on his deathbed now," stuttered a short, plump witch with black hair.

"None of the current staff is nearly experienced enough to take on the role. If only Sprout hadn't retired…"

"Stop lingering on the past," snapped Zabini. "What of Alexander Moon?"

"No, he's always abroad and his past is scrutiny-worthy to say the least."

"Then what's wrong with Harry Potter?"

Harry decided he had to reveal himself. The Board were coming to no conclusions, and he was growing less amused and more irritated. He sat himself beside Bill at the end of the table and revealed himself.

He took great joy in the sight of twelve of the most influential people in England jumping as one. A good many toppled out of the seat and the others simply stared out of him, mouths opening and closing like fishes. Bill was the first to recover. "H-Harry! It's true!" He shook Harry's hand vigorously.

"Yes, it's true. How have you been, Bill?"

"Never better, Harry, never better. I'm married with two beautiful children and have a very comfortable job. Wha-Where have you been?"

"That's a long story, Bill; I'll tell you it another time. So you've got two kids? Who's your lucky lady?"

"Fleur, she's wonderful and so are Luc and Renee. But Harry – Merlin – I don't know where to begin. I had a great long speech, but you've taken me completely by surprise…"

"As delightful as this is," spat Zabini sarcastically, "let's focus on the matter at hand. Potter, what are you doing in a top-secret meeting and how did you by-pass the wards?"

"The wards aren't a problem for me," said Harry softly.

"What?" snapped the old, bald man.

"I can activate or manipulate the wards as I wish."

"You mean?"

"Yes, I'm the new Headmaster of Hogwarts." A huge outcry met his words as the information caused realisation to dawn on the Board. "Minister Vallidus felt it was his duty to appoint a new Headmaster on this occasion."

"The Minister has no right to interfere in the affairs of Hogwarts," wheezed another old man. "It has proudly stood independent of Ministry control for over a thousand years!" There was a mumble of assent from the majority of members.

"With the Wizarding World moving forward, Hogwarts must develop in time with it," said Harry quietly. "It's high time the school governing system was shaken up."

"How dare you!"

"Foolish boy!"

"A Headmaster with such immaturity will never last!"

"Insult me as much as you want but you know I'm telling you the truth. I'll do Minister Vallidus a favour and tell you that by tomorrow evening, the Board of Governors will cease to exist. This'll be your last meeting. I'm sorry. That's all I came down here to say."

Half the members stood in outrage and hurled insults at Harry and about the Ministry while the other, including Bill, stayed quietly. _They probably knew._ Harry quietly made his escape in the ruckus and motioned for Bill to follow him. The middle-aged Weasley obliged and they both took their leave.

"You've caused quite a stir, Harry," commented Bill lightly as they made their way towards Harry's office.

"It wasn't me, was it? The Minister's been planning this for a long while from what I can tell."

"So it's true? The Ministry'll be in charge of Hogwarts?" asked Bill with a hint of displeasure.

"Not quite. The Wizengamot will be in charge of Hogwarts as well as the Minister himself. I didn't really believe the papers when it came to the Governors until just now. That and I didn't know the Malfoys still had their seat."

"Yeah, he's been insufferable. I guess that explains why the Wizengamot members on the Board weren't troubled just now. So you've been in talks with the Minister?"

"You could say that," said Harry as the gargoyle statue moved aside for them. "We came to an agreement. I'll become Headmaster if I support him – _if_ I like what he's doing."

"You trust him?" asked Bill, his ebony eyes meeting Harry's emerald ones.

"No," said Harry calmly, "but I really don't have anything to lose in this deal. But we don't have to trust all our allies, now do we?" That was a lesson Pascal had drummed into him during his first two years in Pascal's care.

"Indeed. So where have you been, Harry? What have been up to these past couple of decades? Why did you…leave?"

"Firstly, I didn't leave voluntarily, I was kidnapped," said Harry. Bill opened his mouth to speak but Harry stopped him. "Secondly, it's a very long story and I really don't have a lot of time at the moment. How about we meet up some time soon and talk about it over dinner or something?"

"Fair enough. When are you free? Personally I'm up to my neck for at least a week and a half. You can come over for dinner anytime after that, just name the date."

"Well, I'm busy for at least two weeks. How about the twenty-eighth of August?"

"Sounds perfect," said Bill, "drop by at late afternoon. Our address is forty-five Northey Avenue. You got that?"

"Yeah," said Harry as he pencilled in the address on his calendar.

"Alright, see you then. Be prepared to spill all the information."

"I will," smiled Harry. "Oh, and Bill, don't tell anyone else about the meeting. Word spreads fast and you'll find half the wizarding world on your doorstep."

Bill laughed. "Sure. Bye."

"Bye." Bill took a some floo powder and was gone.

Harry drummed his fingers on the table. _What should I do now? You yeah – Sirius._ He traced Bill's footsteps and took a healthy helping of floo powder and said, "Greenford Grove, Sirius' Room!" He stuck his head into the fire and felt the familiar uncomfortable feeling of his knees on a cold, stone floor and his head flying through the fire system.

As predicted, he found Sirius lying in bed. He did not know if he was asleep, however, as the boy was facing the opposite direction to the fire. "Sirius," he called. No response. "Sirius!" Still no response. "SIRIUS!" Sirius grumbled dozily and turned over.

"Get up, Sirius!"

"What the hell's your head doing in my fire?" asked Sirius groggily, rubbing his eyes. "What time do you all this?"

"Midday, and my head's here because I need to talk to you urgently."

"Urgent as in 'what were you doing last night' or urgent as in 'we're in danger from yet another dark wizard.'"

"Neither," said Harry. "Hurry up and get changed."

"I'll get changed but I'm not hurrying," said Sirius as he got up and leisurely made his way to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he returned fully dressed and freshened up. "I'm glad you took your bloody time," snapped Harry. "Grab hold of my hand." Sirius obliged and Harry pulled him back through the fireplace and into the office. He gingerly got up and massaged his knees as Sirius coolly surveyed the room.

"Where are we?"

"Hogwarts, in my office to be precise," replied Harry. "Sit." Sirius took a seat opposite Harry and seemed clearly lost for words.

"Let me guess," said Sirius coolly. "The Minister kissed your arse and made you Headmaster. You dragged me out of bed to tell me that I'm going to Hogwarts."

Harry stared at his son, surprised at the level of astute thinking he had shown. _There's still hope for him yet._ "I guess I underestimated you," said Harry slowly. "Here I was getting ready to go to war and you've already worked it out!" Harry had tried over the past two years to spend more time with Sirius than ever before. The boy had shown slight improvements in attitude as his hormones calmed down. They could actually have civil conversation on normal days, though it was always Harry who initiated them (unless, of course, Sirius required money).

"I've been expecting it ever since you told me we were going back to the Wizarding World. I have some terms, though." Harry's eyes narrowed slightly but he motioned for Sirius to continue. "I'm allowed to choose whatever subjects I want without any influence from you…"

"Done," said Harry, but he knew it would only get worse.

"I'm allowed to go out after curfew…"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "How on earth did you-"

"I skimmed through that stupid _Hogwarts A History _book when I worked out what was going to happen."

"Done, but that's it," said Harry. He knew he was abusing his powers by allowing Sirius to do this, but anything that bridged the gap between them, even only by millimetres, was welcomed with open arms.

"One more thing – I can shop for my school stuff on my own," he said.

"Fine, but I'm putting a spending cap on you. And if you get into a fight, I'll take back all the other things we just agreed on."

Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. "If that's all, I'm meeting up with my mates in a few minutes." Harry motioned for Sirius to leave.

As his son disappeared in a flash of green flames, Harry wondered if Sirius had ulterior motives. _Maybe things are just looking up_, thought the optimistic part of him while the other shook its head.

Someone should have told him that optimism is stupidity.

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_1. I was NOT being bitchy or extorting you all last chapter. I sincerely thought that only a few people were interested in the fic. I'm not gonna go all airy fairy and say I write for my own personal pleasure - if it was personal, I wouldn't post it for the whole world to see. I post it because I want others to enjoy it and if no-one's enjoying it, I wouldn't bother myself with it. For me, the thrill of writing fanfiction is waking up in the morning to an inbox full of reviews saying they loved it or that I need to work on something. If most other authors are honest with themselves, that's how they feel too. However, now that I know people are actually interested, the show's back on the road. Thanks again for the wonderful response._

2. Sirius Potter. A lot of people are pissed off with him or want to punch his face in, etc. For me, that's a rather high complement. It means that you're absorbed into the fic enough to feel emotion. There will_ be a resolution between Sirius and Harry (it'd be bad story-telling if there wasn't) but it won't come for some time. You've got to understand that Sirius being a wayward teenager is absolutely integral to the plot._

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	6. To Fight the Coming Darkness

**Disclaimer: **Ahem! I do not, never have done and never will own the Harry Potter series. They are the property of Bloomsbury and, apparently, Warner Bros. No money is of course being made. Thank you.

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**Thanks to:** Everyone who reviewed. 

**Special Thanks To:** **IP82** who proved to be a strong wall to bounce ideas and chapters off of.

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_Though this be madness, yet there is method in't. - _**_William Shakespeare_**

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Chapter Four: To Fight the Coming Darkness

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**15th August 2017 – Headmaster's Office**

A day had passed since he was appointed Headmaster, but it felt more like a week. He had spent an exhaustive twenty-four hours organising his office and moving his belongings from Greenford Grove to his office and private quarters.

He stared at the rose in a glass vase on his desk. He knew the office would not be complete without it. Ever since he created the rose statue in the garden at Lyra's funeral, he was always reminded of her and felt her presence whenever he saw one. He did not care if others may think it feminine for him to possess a rose, he needed it.

"Harry." Harry tore his eyes away from the brick red petals of the rose and glanced at the fire. Vallidus' head was floating in its depths. _Even after going through floo, he still looks neat._

"Yeah, I'll come in a second," replied Harry.

"Remember our deal yesterday."

"Blessed as I am with a long-term memory, I'll double check to make sure I don't forget." The Minister smiled and removed his hat. Harry sighed. A few seconds after he had awoken that morning, an important eagle owl had confronted him with an invitation from the Ministry. He was to attend a press conference confirming his appointment as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Ever since, he was dreading the very thought of it.

He checked his appearance in the mirror. He chose to wear deep purple robes as it seemed as neutral as he could have hoped for. That and a previous Headmaster had written a little note in it recommending it for press conferences and 'other formal occasions'. "How do I look?" he asked the mirror.

"Just wonderful, dear. Ever so handsome, though I would've preferred something a little tighter at the back, as it would have shown off your desirable-"

"That's enough," said Harry, slightly pink at the comments.

"You asked my opinion," grumbled the mirror. Harry was about to say something but stopped himself. _I don't want to get into an argument with a mirror!_ He quickly touched the Ministry badge just above the mantelpiece – the permanent Portkey to the Ministry – and managed to slightly change his direction of travel as Pascal had taught him and landed beside the Minister, who was pacing up and down slowly in his office.

"You left it until very late, Harry," said the Minister, smiling in relief. "May I ask how you managed to appear beside me? Through here, by the way." They made their way towards the official pressroom, which was also used as a courtroom if all others were booked.

"It's possible to slightly change the destination of a Portkey by arranging your body in a different way just before you land," explained Harry briskly as they travelled at pace. "It's very difficult and takes a good many months of practice, but you need to learn how to move your body quicker first, as you only have a split-second to jerk your head."

"Ah, but surely there are other factors such as the power of the Portkey itself."

"Well yes, but if you practise enough it doesn't matter who created the Portkey. Like apparition, there's a chance of splinching yourself if you move your body too early. Also, you can't pass through anti-Portkey wards if the Portkey isn't coded to the wards."

"Where did you learn this information?" asked the Minister as they reached the corridor in which the pressroom was situated.

"An old friend of mine," said Harry vaguely. "He spent years testing and theorising before coming up with it. But I've got to warn you, not everyone can do it, and it's almost as hard as becoming an animagi. There are many factors that haven't been investigated such as weight and height of the wizard."

"And power as well I assume," said Vallidus softly. "You do realise that private investigations of this magnitude should be reported to the Ministry? This information could get into the wrong hands." _It has_, thought Harry.

"Yeah, well, I was in hiding. What would have happened if a dead man suddenly appeared just to report a private investigation?" The Minister made a non-committal noise and dropped the topic.

"Here we are." They stopped in front a large, arched door. "Are you ready?"

"As ever." They proceeded into a room showering them with blinding light. Harry had to squint in order to see properly. The walls were drenched in white paint and the various windows showed the scene of a hot summer's day. All talk stopped as he and Minister made their way to a long table on a raised platform. The flashes from nearby photographers were quickly beginning to become irksome.

When he took his seat in the centre, he was able to comprehend how many reporters there were. At least fifty witches and wizards were sitting in the rows of seats, scribbling furiously at their parchment; Harry had asked Quick Quote Quills to be banned.

"Remember to cast the Sonorous Charm," said the Minister quietly and Harry obliged. "Ready for the first question?"

Harry nodded and his voice boomed, "I'm ready to take questions from the floor." Never having cast the charm on himself before, he felt strange hearing his own voice resonate across the room at such high amplitude.

"Mr. Potter," said the reporter closest to him, "firstly, congratulations on becoming Headmaster. How exactly did you vanquish the Dark Lord that night?"

Before Harry could speak, the Minister intervened. "Mr. Potter is not at liberty to divulge top-secret Ministry information. Nor is he going to reveal his location over the past twenty years. This is a press conference concerning his appointment as Headmaster." Harry gave the Minister a small, thankful smile.

"Mr. Potter, did you apply for the position or was it offered to you?"

"Well, I arranged a meeting with the Minister to discuss the state of the wizarding world and the job was offered to me during that meeting."

"How do you feel about being offered such a lucrative job so young?"

"I'm absolutely thrilled, completely over the moon. I love the school more than I can say; it was my only home during my childhood. To be offered even a teaching role would have been a dream come true, but Headmaster of the most prestigious school in the world is breathtaking. I'm looking forward to having a long, exciting reign for as long as I'm wanted."

"About your childhood, what do you say to the rumours that you were physically mistreated?"

Harry stopped for a minute and tried to choose the right wording. "My childhood wasn't my favourite time, I suppose. I lived with my Aunt and Uncle and I'll freely admit there was no love between us. However much they hated me, I was never physically abused by any of them. But I did learn one thing from them and that's modesty. So I guess they inadvertently built up my character. Their hate is the reason why I didn't turn out to be a spoilt, arrogant, pampered prince like some of my former classmates."

"You mentioned Hogwarts as a favourite place of yours, what particularly did you love about Hogwarts?"

"I loved almost everything about it, especially in the first few years. Having a muggle childhood made me appreciate magic even more and I'd be thrilled at little things such as a custom-made clock that showed where each of the family members was."

"Are the rumours true that you have fallen out with the closest thing you ever had to a family, the Weasleys?"

"No," said Harry shortly, his eyes narrowed, "next question."

"What aspects don't you like about Hogwarts and will you do anything to change them?"

"I was very confused about the wizarding world when I first entered Hogwarts so we are creating a summer event whereby muggleborns will understand the wizarding way of life. For now, that'll be the only major shake up to the school system."

"Mr. Potter, do you realise that the Board of Governors may not allow the funds for such an adventurous project?"

"Yes, but I'm sure we can reach some sort of agreement by this evening," said Harry surreptitiously. "Next question."

"How is your relationship with the Minister?"

"Very good. We've gotten along very well and I'm definitely happy about his policies. He's the first competent Minister in my lifetime at least."

"The Minister highlighted Dumbledore as a major threat two years ago and has continued to since then, how do you feel about this, taking into account that there is no concrete proof that Dumbledore has orchestrated a single attack?"

Harry bit his lip. Here was the first question were he and the Minister were not harmonious on. "Dumbledore is certainly worth investigating. We shouldn't take risks like we did with Voldemort and wait for an attack. The fact of the matter is, he's not mentally right and needs help."

"Would you advise direct attacks against him?" Harry stayed silent. The only sound that could be heard was a distant cough. He could not openly lie to such a direct question. The quiet seemed to last for an age.

"This is not a press conference for Ministry policy. Kindly revert to questions about Hogwarts," said Vallidus coldly.

"Harry, do you still think thestrals are a suitable mode of transportation for vulnerable young students?"

Harry, for the first time, concentrated on who was asking the question. He would recognise the permanently surprised expression and dirty blonde hair. It was an adult Luna Lovegood.

"Yes, but only if you can see them," he replied with a warm smile. He added in an undertone, "Let's wrap this up, Minister."

"Alright, one more question. Mr. Potter's a very busy man as you may have guessed." There was a large ruckus as all the reporters tried to talk as one. A burly wizard beside the raised platform released the sound of an explosion. There were a couple of screams before peace was restored.

"There will be no more questions," said Minister Vallidus coldly. There was an angry outcry and the throng of reporters began to approach slowly, it was very much like a swarm of locusts. Before they could make any progress, a powerful shield was automatically erected.

"Is that shield automatic?" asked Harry as he descended the stairs to the right of the raised platform.

"Yes. The creators of this room were not lacking in foresight."

"Can it let through someone if I wanted it to?"

The Minister raised his eyebrow. "Yes it can, though I don't understand-"

"One of the reporters is a good friend of mine. The one with the dirty blonde hair, Luna Lovegood. Can it let her through? I'd like to talk to her."

"Lovegood?" asked Vallidus, his surprise furthering. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes." Vallidus snapped his fingers and the burley guard was instantly at his side. He mumbled something in his ear and pointed towards Luna. The guard nodded and made his way to the barrier where half the reporters had already given up.

"Why are there so many reporters?" asked Harry quizzically.

"Well the news of your return is headline news all over the wizarding world," said the Minister incredulously. "Gathered here is the world's press. Those are representatives of all the free wizarding states; France, Germany, Bulgaria, Hungary and many more. I'm sorry to have to inform you of this, but your fame reaches out far further than the confines of our shores."

"Oh," said Harry. He could not think of any more to say. While he visited many different wizarding countries, he never knew news of his exploits, or even the existence of Lord Voldemort, had reached them. _Come to think about it, I never asked._

The guard returned a moment later with Luna, who was smiling dreamily, in tow.

"This is where we'll part ways," said the Minister, "remember you have two staff members to appoint still."

"I will." The Minister nodded curtly and left at high pace.

"Harry," sad Luna, "I'm pleased to see you. You finally got rid of that horrible Deldrin, it really spoiled your hair before."

"Erm, thanks. How are you doing Luna?"

"Very well. Thanks for the quote; I'll be able to write a long report on the positives of thestral travel now. People are bound to believe it if you put in a good word."

Harry coughed uncomfortably. "Listen, how about we catch up some time?"

Luna smiled airily. "That would be nice. I understand you don't want to talk here with all the horrible reporters shouting at you." She nodded her head towards the remaining handful of wizards. "I'll be in the Leaky Cauldron on Sunday if you want."

"Sunday at midday sound good?"

"Very. Goodbye Harry." She smiled and ambled away towards the door. Harry bade her goodbye and watched her leave before taking a Portkey to his office – an obvious benefit of being Headmaster.

He stood for a second in his office before remembering he needed a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. _I know just the person._ He took a handful of floo powder and said, "Ronald Weasley's House!" He felt the familiar, uncomfortable feeling of flying through the floo system before he was stopped with a sickening crunch. He felt as if he had run into a closed door. A niggling pain coursed through his body and he could not reach for his wand to stop it as his arms were glued to his sides.

"Who is it?" cried Ron's voice.

"It's Harry you twat!"

"Prove it," growled Ron's voice menacingly.

"Your biggest fear was realised when we met Aragog." He gasped as he was hurled through a fireplace, landing brusquely on his front, his body aching with pain. He gingerly hauled himself onto his feet and angrily looked for Ron.

He found himself in a fairly small living room with a small armchair beside the fireplace he had just been tossed out of. The walls were adorned with shelves, mostly containing medals, certificates and trophies. He edged closer to one of the shelves and picked up a trophy with crossing golden wands on a small podium. '_2nd Class Tournament 2012. Winner: Ronald Weasley.'_ He placed the trophy back on its stand. A silver certificate mounted on a golden frame teetering on top of the fireplace caught his eye. _'Order of Merlin, Second Class. Awarded to: Commander Ronald Weasley. Reason: Heroic actions when faced with mortal peril.'_

"Make sure you don't break it." Harry turned and coolly greeted Ron; he had not forgotten the injury he had sustained in the security system.

"I see you don't get many guests," commented Harry, jabbing his thumb at the single armchair.

"Nor do you," replied Ron wryly.

"Touché. Why the hell did your ward system attack me?"

Ron smirked and placed himself into the one available chair. "You were going too fast for your own good and it detected that you could be a threat. It deals out punishment depending how powerful you are if you don't have the password. It's 'victory' by the way. How did the press conference go?"

"I'll assume you're not going to invite me to sit down," said Harry before conjuring an armchair of his own near Ron's. "It went reasonably well. They tried to pry into my personal life as usual and tried to get me to talk about Vallidus. You know what the press are like, always a pain in the arse. I love the medal collection by the way; you're like an old army officer."

"A what?"

"An old, retired muggle auror who fought in a long war."

"Oh. Well, I didn't have much to work for after You-Know-Who was gone. We rounded up the last of his supporters and took care of any wannabe Dark Lords coming in from abroad. Most of the trinkets are from duelling competitions and such. But I have to say I'm quite proud of that Order of Merlin. Got it for saving the Macmillans from Bellatrix Lestrange…." He trailed off and stared into the fire in reminiscence.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Ron Weasley actually wanted to work," said Harry.

"Yeah well, people change. Funny, all that the mirror showed me back in first year came true. I always thought then that I'd be completely happy, but…well you can see the price I had to pay for it."

"Still, don't you get visits from your family, old classmates or friends from work?" asked Harry. He could guess the answer at the state of the living room.

"I go to the Burrow rather than the other way around. Old classmates have got their own problems to worry about and most of them have started their own family anyway. They hang around with other couples now. Parvati and Seamus got together, Ernie and Susan got married, Lavender married some old, rich muggle. The only people from our old class that haven't got partners are me, Neville and Herm-" He trailed off darkly.

"Hermione? Are you still in touch with her?" Harry asked. In all honesty, he had always assumed they would be together.

"The Order of the Phoenix are active again and have been for the past two years," whispered Ron, skirting around the question. Harry frowned and made a note to ask Luna what had happened between his two former best friends.

"Is Dumbledore the leader? The papers all claim he's insane."

Ron nodded grimly. "Oh he's nutters alright, _really_ barking mad this time. He spends the meetings raving about how the wizarding world's corrupt and you're 'the son of darkness'. In fact, last time he-" Ron suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and seemed to run out of air. He grabbed his throat, slipped onto his knees and began pounding the ground. Harry jumped to his feet and cast all the relevant medical charms he knew.

As sudden as it had come, the airless state passed on. Ron lay panting on the ground, blue in the face. He pulled himself back onto his chair and blinked rapidly.

"Are you alright?" asked Harry.

"Yeah I am now. That piece of shit! He must have slipped me some kind of secrecy potion or cursed me when I wasn't looking. That's the final straw; I'm done with the Order!" Ron jumped out of his seat and began pacing up and down.

"Are all the old Order members in it this time?" asked Harry. Ron shook his head, not daring to talk.

"Is it mainly new members?" Ron nodded.

"That night, did you attack me on Dumbledore's orders?" Ron shrugged.

"As I've told you time and time again, one minute I was at an Order meeting, the next I was on your floor. I've tried to investigate it but nothing's come out of that."

"Looks like I need to talk to Dumbledore even more urgently and see what's what for myself."

"Let's talk about something I can actually comment on," sighed Ron as he collapsed into his chair again in frustration. "Cut the shit, there's a specific reason why you're here; spill the beans."

Harry run a hand through his hair and the familiar itch for a cigarette washed over him. He tried to ignore it and said, "I need a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And I thought about it and realised there was nobody better off teaching it than a 2nd Class Commander."

"You would've also realised that this 2nd Class Commander was about to become a 1st Class auror and so isn't ready to switch careers, especially to a cursed job."

"Come on, Ron. Do it as a favour for me. Do you want another generation of kids learning nothing because they've got a barely competent teacher? Remember when we were at Hogwarts? Do you want to inflict that on anyone else?"

Ron shifted guiltily but did not relent. "I'm sure there's more than one person qualified for it. Why don't you ask one of the 1st Class aurors to teach it? I'm sure Vallidus will let you borrow one for the year."

"Yeah, but not everyone's fit to be a teacher."

"How'd you know I'm fit to teach then?" demanded Ron.

"Remember in fourth year before the final task? You and Hermione taught me more in a few weeks than I learnt in an average year. I know you can teach. But the question is: are you willing to pass on your knowledge to the next generation?"

"Harry, I'm loyal to my job," sighed Ron wearily.

"The Ron I knew was loyal to Hogwarts above everything else."

"Well, I'm not the Ron you knew, alright!" roared Ron. "I'm not stupid or incompetent. I don't think only about food and quidditch. I've moved on! I have a comfortable job with a generous salary and a high reputation. I don't have time to teach a bunch of snotty kids how to tie their shoe laces! I need to fight crime. I don't belong to the school! And most of all, I don't belong to you!"

Harry sat calmly as Ron breathed heavily. His scars seemed more prominent in the flickering light of the fire. "I see," said Harry coldly and got up. "I think I preferred the old Ron. At least _he_ was a friend I could depend on." Harry slowly and deliberately heaved himself out of his seat. He heavily turned away and hobbled a little over-theatrically to the fire.

"Undependable?" he heard Ron mumble quietly and smirked slightly. He unhurriedly picked up a handful of floo powder and threw it into the fire. It glowed green and he noticed Ron's troubled expression in it.

"Harry – wait!" Harry smirked and turned slowly.

"I'll see you on September the First."

"But I'll want at least 20,000 galleons a year," said Ron.

"We can't afford that. 10,000 galleons is the maximum for a senior teacher."

"What? I get 35,000 galleons at the moment! You can't expect me to take that big a pay-cut!"

"Judging by the state of this house, all your money's doing is piling up. How about 15,000 galleons and I'll make you both Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Head."

Ron considered for a moment then nodded. "Fine. But just remember this favour."

"You're getting paid quite handsomely for just a 'favour'. Anyway, see you later. I'll expect you to be fair, by the way, no freebies to Gryffindors."

"I'll be fairer than Snape ever was," mumbled Ron.

"Not hard." Harry stepped into a fire, glad that his first call of duty had been a relative success. _All I need now is a Herbology teacher._

Dumbledore calmly drummed his fingers on a furnished oak table running the length of the dark, draughty room. Only the failing glimmer of candles lining the wall offered any ailment for the gloom. He would have called the meetings anywhere else but he could not be sure of security. _The walls have ears,_ he mused_, and even the Fidelus is not foolproof._ He ceased his drumming and began fingering his wand as the room began filling with his most trustworthy. The Order of the Phoenix.

Many of his great allies from the Order of the second rising had left him. Mad, they called him. 'Barmy', 'nutty', 'loony', 'bonkers'. They said he had 'lost it'. Jones, Lupin, Shacklebolt and even Snape. All had deserted him. _They will see the error in their ways soon._ Finally, all the members had arrived.

"Welcome my friends," began Dumbledore. "It has been a long week but I'm glad to see most of you here." He smiled warmly at them all. "But I have some grave news for you all. One of our number has left us, I fear, forever. Young Ronald has allied himself with Harry. It is just as I dreaded, the pull of his past became too great of a burden for him to resist-"

"What's your proof, Albus?" cried Bill.

Dumbledore eyed him appraisingly over his half-moon spectacles but the middle-aged man returned the gaze fiercely. "It has very recently come to my attention," said Dumbledore. "However, if you have lost faith in this old codger, I advise you have a word with your dear brother. I admit I am not surprised. We must now treat him as an enemy; he is dabbling now with that which we strive against." He looked up once more and found Bill silently defiant and a few of the others shifting in their seat.

"S-Should I try and kill Potter?" asked Jimmy Peakes, a tall, thin man who looked distinctly like a rat.

"You fool!" roared a grizzled Alastor Moody. He had aged far from gracefully, his mangled hair a dirty white. "If Ronald Weasley couldn't scratch Potter, what makes you think you even have the nerve to even try and kill him? You're a disgrace to wizards everywhere. Don't sulk! Stand fast, man! Kids these days…"

"Come now, Alastor, James was only attempting to help the cause. Unfortunately, Alastor does speak with an ounce of truth; it would be dangerous to attack Harry directly, especially as he has protection from Voldemort himself. No, I have a different target in mind. I ask you this, where do the darkest of all Dark wizards congregate?"

"Surely they congregate everywhere now," smirked Russell Gordon, a thick-necked man with a bristly moustache.

"Yes, but where is the hub of activity? Where has it always been?"

"Why Knockturn Alley of course!" said Ernie Macmillan pompously.

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "We have discussed and discussed but now is the time that the Order of the Phoenix make their mark. We must rise up to the core of darkness and as it rears its ugly head, tear it asunder!"

Mundungus fidgeted in his seat at the end of the table. "I don't know about that, Albus. There are much better places to target. What about the Ministry? I say Knockturn Alley's gotten a lot of bad press if you ask me…"

"No, Professor Dumbledore's right," said Angelina from the other side of the table. "If there's anywhere that's always been associated with the Dark Arts, it's Knockturn Alley. Parents always say to their children, 'if you behave badly, we'll take you to Knockturn Alley'; it's a surprise the Ministry hasn't shut it down. We'll be doing the wizarding world a favour."

"Thank you, Angelina. Your analytical skills have proved, once again, an asset to the Order," smile Dumbledore. She seemed to take the praise in her stride but he spotted the small blush. "Mundungus, I understand you are our eyes and ears to the worst of the darkness, but it is time we took action. Loathe as I am to admit it, we live in a world where the bold and ruthless win the battles. The time of the Order of the Phoenix has come!"

"But Albus, destroying Knockturn Alley won't achieve anything!"

Dumbledore felt his wand slip out of his grip and felt the familiar heavy drowsiness overwhelm him and his vision was blocked by a smoky mist. "Are you loyal? Or are you another minion of evil whose only purpose in life is to create havoc and chaos for the pure of heart? Does your loyalty to Knockturn Alley supersede that of the Order? Does the oath you took upon induction mean nothing?" Mundungus whimpered under the intemperate anger Dumbledore was emanating with every breath. The old man seemed to loom larger and larger and Mundungus smaller and smaller.

"Calm down, Dumbledore!" roared Moody. "I don't know what Azkaban has done to you but I've seen lesser men take its punishment. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were possessed. Calm down I say!"

Unbeknownst to both Dumbledore and Moody, Tonks and Emmeline Vance shared a significant look. Under the table, Emmeline levitated Dumbledore's wand back up into his hands. Dumbledore instantly felt the effects as his senses sharpened. _Why does this happen?_

"Alastor, please take a seat," he said calmly as he spotted Moody on his feet. "Where were we? Ah yes, Knockturn Alley. It is the pinnacle of darkness. Its destruction would also be as poisonous a wound as the death of Voldemort himself."

"Dumbledore, you're out of your mind," growled Moody. "The old friend I knew never would've actively tried something like this. This is just one step too far…"

"Alastor, old friend. Do you not see? Have the whispers of the enemy reached your ears and clouded your judgement?"

"The only person with clouded judgement here is you and the rest of these hillbillies you've hoodwinked. I remember a time when I was proud to say I was an Order member. Proud! Now look at us, cramped up in this little hovel planning a terrorist attack. You wonder why all the sensible members have backed out? This just isn't you, Albus!"

"Alastor, was it not you who always pushed me to revert to violence in wars past?" asked Dumbledore, afraid his long-term friend would desert him.

"Yes, but this is different. We were fighting Death Eater scum. Now you're willing to blow up a whole street because of an enemy you've dreamt up. That Weasley knew exactly what he was doing. I've had enough of this, Dumbledore. I returned to the Order and endured two long years of it out of respect for you, but now there's nothing to stay for." Dumbledore watched as placidly as he could as Moody glared at the members one last time before limping out of the room.

"So another is sucked into darkness," said Dumbledore softly, but all at the table heard him. "Any others with mutiny on their minds?" Each person shook their heads emphatically but he could see doubt in their eyes. "Then let us proceed with our plans."

_This is going to be a long night…_

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	7. Of Rivers and Buildings

**Disclaimer: **Ahem! I do not, never have done and never will own the Harry Potter series. They are the property of Bloomsbury and, apparently, Warner Bros. No money is of course being made. Thank you.

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**Thanks to:** Everyone who reviewed.

**Special Thanks To:** **IP82** who proved to be a strong wall to bounce ideas and chapters off of.

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_It's not that I'm a workaholic, it's rather that I like to tread the precarious line between boredom and fear - _**_Nigella Lawson_**

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**Chapter Five: Of Rivers and Buildings**

Hermione eyed the piece of gnarled parchment before her. She screwed her nose up at the unbelievably optimistic cash flow forecast. It was apparent to her that the business was going to fail; there was no reason why she should allow Gringotts to lend them money. If there was one thing Hermione hated more than anything else, it was people wasting her time.

After flinging the parchment into the fire, she heaved herself out of her chair. She quickly glanced at her immaculate desk and made sure everything was perfect. Biting her lip, she moved her golden 'Chief Executive of Gringotts' name plate slightly to the left. Once satisfied, she flicked a spec of dust off her shoulder and made straight for the bathroom.

The murky grey walls were lined with portraits of old and celebrated goblins. Garfield the Grey stared down at her with his beak-like green nose, Rhubarb the Regal followed her down the corridor with his icy stare and Mottard the Mangy licked his lips at her. She shuddered and quickened her pace. The corridor turned this way and that like a snake. It grew narrower and narrower as she hastened down it when at last the sign: 'LAdiz ToLeTT' appeared to her right. She hated how sexist the goblins were; the idiot who had built the cramped excuse for a lavatory clearly did not think a woman would ever use it.

Hermione sighed as she caught sight of her reflection in a cracked, stained mirror. Her bushy brown hair was tied up in a tight bun which was smattered with silvery stands of hair. The bags under her eyes had grown more prominent as she worked into the early hours of the morning and her skin had become pale through lack of sunlight. She glanced down at her loose fitting robes and knew it hid an unattractive body. It was at times like these that she wished she had friends – real friends. They wouldn't allow her to forget meals or work fourteen hour days. _No_, thought Hermione, tearing her eyes away from the mirror, _I don't need friends. All they do is abandon me._

She stared straight ahead as she marched back down the corridor to her office. She glanced at a nearby grandfather clock. Quarter past nine, most people had gone home. She wondered for a moment what Ron might be doing. Did he have a family and children of his own? Was he tucking them in bed? The bronze doorknob became a pink freckly face with a shock of scorching red hair. Her heart pounded but she shook her head violently. Quickly, she turned his head and flung the door open.

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

Hermione's heart missed a beat but sighed in relief as she caught sight of the familiar features of the Minister for Magic. She took her place at her desk, but not before sending him a dirty look.

"What do you want this time?" she asked wearily.

"Would I be optimistic in thinking that I'm going to be invited to sit down?" asked Vallidus. Hermione waved nonchalantly at the wooden chair on the other side of the table, eyes fixed resolutely on the piece of parchment in front of her.

Vallidus snubbed the proffered chair and conjured his own black leather armchair. "I see this post has kept you hard at work. However, I am rather curious to know what keeps a woman in her thirties at the workplace after hours."

"I've got too much work to do," said Hermione, perching a pair of half-moon reading glasses at the end of her nose. "Hmm, another unexpected fluctuation in the Prewett account…" Over the past two years Hermione had noticed the meagre Prewett account increase unfathomably in size. She knew it was her duty to investigate but did not want to involve herself in the Weasley's affairs again…

"Pardon?" said the Minister, not quite hearing the murmur.

"Oh! N-nothing," spluttered Hermione.

"Have you heard the news? Harry Potter has returned once more." Vallidus seemed to be fighting the urge to sneer.

Hermione stopped writing, her expression hardened. He was alive? Had the _Daily Prophet_ actually got something right? The implications raced through her mind as her face grew more and more steely. "I don't care," she lied.

"I find that difficult to believe. I spoke to him recently and he seemed well. He had a wife who bore him a child. He now lives at Hogwarts where he is the Headmaster."

Hermione slowly picked up her quill again and shakily began to write once more. She could not show a shred of emotion, as Vallidus would take it as a sign of weakness. "Clever Minister, very clever. Make him Headmaster before the public call for him to take your place."

Vallidus' lips thinned. "Do you miss him? Do you want to see him?" he whispered.

"No," said Hermione coldly, looking up at him for the first time, "he ran away like a coward. I've been fine without him all these years and I can live quite happily without ever seeing him again." She placed the piece of parchment neatly on her outbox and readjusted the pile, making sure all the edges lined up.

"But he saved your life," sneered Vallidus, "don't you at least owe him a thank you?"

Hermione snorted derisively and said, "Where was he all these years? _He's_ the reason why everything's fallen apart. I mean look at the Weasleys! Look at the Order! There's nothing left of them! Who cares if he saved my life and killed Voldemort? He's a coward for running away and I can never, ever forgive him for that. Now what do you want from me?"

"You were born with a brilliant cunning-"

"Cut the crap and get to the point, I'm really busy," she snapped sharply.

Vallidus' eyes narrowed slightly. "The Ministry wishes to acquire a loan from Gringotts."

"What will this money be used for?"

"Private Ministry projects in the Department of Mysteries, the details of which are top secret. Hence why I'm asking _you_. The official documents require more detail than I am able to privy. The loan must come directly from the top."

"I'm sorry but I can't help you," said Hermione mechanically.

"It's in your best interests that you do," hissed Vallidus, his voice laced with venom.

"It's against Gringotts policy to give you any sort of money off the record. It'd break hundreds of regulations, not to mention the code of conduct. I'd be setting a horrific example to the others if I gave you even a knut without filling out the form…"

"The funny thing about institutions such as Gringotts is that they are very much like building blocks. Remove the block on the top and the rest of the structure stands strong. People, however, are more like rivers. They widen as they go downstream but the most important thing is the source. Without the source, they'd soon dry up. Remember who your source is; remember who allowed you to climb the ladder so quickly…" The threats were clear as the waters of a highland spring. She pursed her lips. Rules were a web of safety, without them, society would fall freely.

"How much do you wish to borrow?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"That's my girl! 100,000 galleons."

"The money will arrive in the Department of Mysteries' donation account in the morning." He nodded curtly, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face, before making to leave. "And I'm not your girl," she added as he closed the door behind him.

She bit her lip in frustration as she filled out the Gringotts donation form. She hated how he was able to manipulate her into gaining favours. She hated how her job was never secure. And now she hated that Harry was able to become Headmaster instantly, a job she had secretly desired since leaving school.

She made three copies of the form and decided to keep one for herself for future reference. Her hand bearing the piece of parchment slipped into the bottom drawer before touching a cool, smooth rectangular object. Quickly she scooped it out of the drawer.

Smiling up at her was a black-haired bespectacled boy with brilliant green eyes and a lighting bolt scar. Near him was a tall, gangly red-haired boy and in between them both, with an arm around either one, was herself. Her hand shaking, she turned the picture frame. The words 'best friends forever' were written at the back in scruffy handwriting.

Memories struck her like a rush of blood to the head. She closed her eyes as she remembered the first time Harry and Ron had accepted her; the first time she had ever had friends. She remembered how devastated she was in third year when Ron wouldn't speak to her. She remembered how anxious she was in fourth year when she thought Harry and Ron would never speak to each other again. She remembered the feeling of ice gripping her heart at the news that Harry and Ginny were dead. Her eyes began stinging as she thought of how she had thought she could never be happy again. Her hand trembled violently. A single pearly tear ran down her pale face and dropped onto Harry's smiling face. Another followed behind it and covered Ron's. She squinted down at the photo again. Harry and Ron's faces were a blur, only she was clearly visible. Her fists tightened into little balls. Grabbing the photo she hurled it into the fire. As the embers engulfed the picture, she pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. Reminiscence or no, she had work to do.

Harry walked up to the door behind which was Hermione's office and sighed. _Do I really want to do this?_ Despite his growing doubts, Harry knew he had to speak to Hermione; simply ignoring her was out of the question. _I bet she'd be quite happy ignoring me…_

He sighed and knocked on the door. "Come in!" he heard and entered.

"Listen Minister I can't – oh!"

Harry slowly entered the large, neat office and closed the door behind him. He found Hermione staring at him, an eagle-feathered quill hanging limply in her hand.

"Hello, Hermione," he said quietly.

"H-Harry," she stuttered. She blinked before drawing herself up importantly and wiping the surprise from her features. "I'm…busy."

"So I see," replied Harry tensely, pointing to the pile of parchment. "Can I sit down?" Hermione gave him an unfathomable look which he took as a yes. "How are you?"

"Fine," she said coolly.

"You don't look fine. What have you done to yourself?"

"None of your business."

"Well it is my business if one of my f-"

"Don't say it," hissed Hermione angrily, "we're not friends."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "I see. I understand you might be a little upset, angry even-"

"Upset! Angry!" cried Hermione, all calm forgotten. "You run away for twenty years, come back and expect me to hug you and say 'well done, Harry' do you? I'm not a damsel in distress, Harry! I've moved on with my life, so has everyone else, and it's about time you should too."

"So this is how you feel," said Harry calmly. "Strange, I thought our friendship was stronger than this…"

"Don't pull that with me, Harry. If you really thought our friendship meant so much, you would've stayed. I can tell you've changed, I don't know what it is, but you've changed. You're not the same person who saved my life."

"Nor are you," said Harry quietly. "You've gone back into your shell. You wake up, go to work, go home, then go to sleep if what I'm told is true. Is that the life you want? Are you happy with your isolation?" Hermione's eyes narrowed and Harry could tell he had hit a nerve.

"I have a highly stressful job, Harry. If that means I'm in the office for long hours, then so be it. Life's not all fun and games." Harry laughed dryly.

"Don't tell me life's not all fun and games. Just because I haven't been cooped up in an office with no outside contact, it doesn't mean I haven't been working. Yeah, I know about your secluded life, I do have ears. And d'you know what I think? I think it's a shame to waste all your talents counting gold all day long. The Hermione I knew wanted to do 'something worthwhile'."

"This is worthwhile," said Hermione. _Lie._

"What if I give you a better offer? What if I offer you the job of Arithmancy Teacher? Clearly if you think this is worthwhile, then passing on your knowledge to children must be off the scale."

To his surprise, Hermione chuckled bitterly. "So is this how it is? Poor, lonely Hermione has a 'dead-end' job so super Headmaster Harry swoops in to the rescue? Thanks, but no thanks."

"Listen, this isn't some sort of charity…"

"I'm not Ron, alright. I'm not going to hop from one job to the other simply because some guy I used to be friends with jumped out of his hidey hole and said 'surprise'." Harry sighed. It was quite obvious he would not be able to change her mind.

"Fine, let's not be friends. How about we're associates, or allies? If you need help, you call me and if I need help, I call you. I don't want bad blood between us." Hermione considered his offer for a second.

"Fine," she said quietly. "Now I don't want to be rude but I'm really swamped at the moment."

"Ok, ok, I'll go. It's not like I don't have work of my own to do either…bye."

"Bye."

Harry got up and went to the door. He opened it when he heard, "oh and Harry…" He turned his head and found Hermione looking at him strangely.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing," she finished lamely. He shrugged his shoulders and closed the door behind him.

The next morning, Harry opened his eyes suddenly. His eyes darted around the room. He grabbed his glasses from his bedside and put them on.

A small house elf stood at the foot of his bed frozen in shock. Its small mouth was slightly open and its great bat-like ears drooped like a dog. Suddenly it snapped out of its statue state and bowed so low its ears swept the floor. "I is sorry Headmaster Harry Potter sir; I is not knowing you is here sir."

Harry raised his eyebrows and asked, "what's your name?"

The house-elves large eyes lit up with admiration and were practically trembling with awe. "I is Slapper, Headmaster Harry Potter, sir."

"Err, you can go now, Slapper," said Harry groggily. Slapper bent over one more time before vanishing with a loud 'crack'.

Harry peered down at his watch and groaned. It was already late morning and he had only just woken up. Cursing time he hurried to his wardrobe, pulled on his usual navy robes and rushed down to his office. Impatiently, he flicked to the right page in his Daily Planner and peered down at his scrawny handwriting.

"Oh dear, I've got to go Herbology Teacher hunting," muttered Harry. Professor Sprout had finally retired from Hogwarts in order to pursue her retirement dream of growing as many species of magical plants as she could, a record currently held by Phyllida Spore.

"Headmaster duties getting the better of you?" said the snide Phineas Nigellus from his portrait.

"No, I just think it'd take a long time that's all," retorted Harry more forcefully than he had intended. To his frustration, Phineas cackled.

"Don't mind him, why don't you use the White Pages?" said Armando Dippet kindly. "You can find one in the library if I remember correctly."

"Oh, thanks," said Harry. He shot Phineas one last glare before making for the door.

"No, Harry," called Dippet, "in your personal library." Phineas laughed louder until a portly woman dressed in a golden robe walked into his portrait and slapped him around the head.

"Where is it?" asked Harry. There were only two doors, one to his personal quarters and the other was the exit.

"See that piece of wall over there?" said the portly woman. "It's a door pretending to be a wall. Just stroke it and it'll open easily." Harry did as instructed and found himself in a room the size of his bedroom packed to the brim with books. _Where's the stupid White Pages_, thought Harry. Without warning, he was lifted into the air and thrown across the room. After landing in an unceremonious heap, a thin white book fell on his head. He cringed in pain and rubbed the source of the throbbing gently.

"Yeah, magic helps everyone," muttered Harry sarcastically. He picked up the offending book and marched out of the room with it. To add salt to his wound, he caught most of the former Heads sniggering at his misfortune.

"It always happens the first time dear, don't worry," assured the portly woman.

Harry picked an eagle feather quill and wrote 'Herbologist' into it. The alphabet appeared as his writing sunk into the page. On a whim, he circled 'L'. A list of names appeared. He scanned through them, searching for English sounding names. Loatingil, Lombre, Longbottom, Lourdes, Louxe… He suddenly stopped and went back two names. Not believing it, he circled the name for more information. It was him: 'Neville Longbottom, Master Herbologist of ten years. Location: Stoneleigh. Availability: Largely unavailable.'

Harry jumped to his feet, grabbed a fistful of floo powder and said, "Stoneleigh." Unfortunately, as he whirled through the fire, there seemed to be three floo-enabled fireplaces. Harry bit his lip and chose the middle one.

Suddenly, it felt as if he had slammed into a wall. Floating in pain was disconcerting. "Name?" said a voice.

"Harry Potter," wheezed Harry, clutching his stomach.

"Name the item my mum used to give me at St. Mungo's."

Harry sighed, luckily that moment in St. Mungo's had remained imprinted in his memory forever – it was the first time he had ever truly felt sorry for someone. "Sweet wrappers." Suddenly Harry was spat out of a fireplace and landed face down on the floor, his glasses skewed and his robes sooty.

"I can't believe it, Harry, I thought you'd forgotten about me after all these years but here you are. Sorry about the security system, you're lucky I was in today!" Harry clambered to his feet and found himself shaking hands vigorously with Neville Longbottom.

Neville had not grown since he last saw him but had certainly gained some weight. While his portliness did indeed show through his robes, he carried himself with an air of confidence and dignity. This startled Harry more than anything. He peered around the small room. The chairs were broken and the table knocked over. Light poured in despite the moth-eaten curtains and layers had built up on what little furniture there was.

"This is…homey," said Harry sceptically.

"Well, let's say I don't spend much time here," chuckled Neville.

"Why not?" Harry had not imagined that growing plants would have led to lengthy hours away from home.

"It's not just growing plants in the garden," said Neville, reading Harry's expression. "There're meetings all over the world to attend, of course. Sometimes I have to travel abroad to actually find the plants and my clients could be anywhere."

"Clients?"

"I don't make money _growing_ plants," laughed Neville. "It's mainly with potion making that the big money comes in…"

"Potion making!" Harry would never have bet even a knut that Neville would brew a single potion after fifth year.

"I know," said Neville, smiling in understanding, "I couldn't believe it either. Apparently I'm not half bad at making potions without Snape looming over the cauldron. I got an E at OWL and an O at NEWT. Pissed Snape right off. If he ever knew I was making a living brewing potions…" Harry grinned, imagining his old Potions Master spluttering like a baby.

"Yeah, I'd pay good money for that. Listen, you heard that Professor Sprout retired?"

"Yeah, she spoke to me about it a few months ago. Congratulations on getting the Headmaster job, by the way, you really deserve it."

"Thanks a lot. Can you do me a favour? I really need a Herbology teacher – one that knows how Hogwarts works."

"I dunno, Harry," said Neville uneasily.

"Please, Neville," pleaded Harry. "The pay is good and not unpredictable – you don't have to rely on clients. 5000 galleons a year without question and bonuses as you get more responsibility. You get to use Hogwart's extensive and top class facilities to carry out any research you want to and you get to pass on your knowledge to the next generation of budding Herbologists."

Neville was not half as stubborn as Ron. He sat pensively, the crackling fire reflected in his eyes. Harry knew to give him his space and waited patiently. "Will I be able to supply my existing clients if I need to?"

"I don't see why not – as long as it doesn't affect your duties."

"Okay, I'll do it," said Neville finally. "It's not like I haven't been thinking of applying anyway."

"Great," said Harry happily. "The Ministry will deal with the administration but for now, I've called a teacher's meeting and we're both very late. If you'll grab my robes, I'll use a Portkey taking us straight into the castle." Neville nodded and took a piece of Harry's sleeve with the tip of his finger. Harry retrieved a Portkey from his robes and in seconds, they were in the deserted Entrance Hall.

Harry ushered Neville towards the Stone Gargoyles guarding the staff room. He muttered the password ('Sweet sorrow') and they stepped into the long panelled room. As he had expected, a long, rickety table had already been erected and all the dark, mismatched wooden chairs but two had been filled. Harry sat at the end of the table, near the large wardrobe, while Neville sat next to Anthony Hardnett - much to the displeasure of the hawk-eyed, grizzled man.

"Sorry I'm late," said Harry briskly, "but I had to close the position of Herbology teacher today." There were some unconvinced faces on the table, but none came up with a retort. "I'm sure you've all met Ron Weasley by now, I appointed him Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." Nodding of heads met this. "And that is Neville Longbottom – he's the new Herbology teacher."

"I don't know about the rest of the staff," drawled Morgan McAllister, a tall, thin man with a short goatee, "but I see a correlation between your new appointments. It seems to me that you are on a mission to employ all your old school friends." Ron narrowed his eyes and Neville raised an eyebrow. Some of the staff looked as if they agreed with the Head of Slytherin.

"I employ the best," said Harry slowly, looking McAllister straight in the eye. "If that means that I appoint old friends, I don't care. If it means I have to employ my worst of enemies, I don't care. Ron has years of Auror experience and is one of the best out there. Neville is a master of his craft and has travelled the world studying magical plants. I think you'll find them quite qualified."

"Can the same be said for you?" asked an old man Harry recognised as Sandy Plaine – the Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

"Pardon?" said Harry, but he had a vague idea of what Plaine was talking about.

"Well let's see," said McAllister sarcastically, "you seemingly disappear when you turn sixteen, you return twenty years later and get appointed Headmaster almost straight away even though you're only in your thirties and there's no evidence of any specialist subjects you have." A murmur of agreement greeted this.

"Listen here," began Ron angrily but Harry stopped him with a raised hand.

"You're perfectly right," said Harry calmly, "you don't see any evidence of my right to become Headmaster. You see no special abilities. I don't blame you for questioning me – in fact, I would've been disappointed if you didn't. Firstly, my specialist field is Defence Against the Dark Arts-" McAllister snorted.

"I don't think a few lucky escapes from the Dark Lord count. Personally, I'd say your special ability is fleeing." Ron was now fingering, what Harry hoped, was his wand under the table and most of the staff was flitting between Harry and McAlister eagerly.

Harry knew what type of man McAllister was – all talk no action. He had seen it all before with the likes of Malfoy and Zacharias Smith. The Potions Master was evidently fishing for a demonstration but Harry would not award it to him. He was too old and experienced to fall for such an immature trick. "If, one day, you come face to face with the Dark Lord, I'm sure you'll be singing a different tune."

"Pretty difficult now that he's dead," said McAllister but he saw an odd look in the man's grey eyes.

Harry chose to ignore the snide comment. "I don't think I have to remind you that what goes on in staff meetings stays secret. If any of you tell another soul about what I'm about to tell you, you'll be fired within the hour. You've been warned.

"One of the main reasons the Minister chose to appoint me was because of my history with the school." Harry reached his hand into thin air and brought thoughts of his loyalty to Hogwarts to the forefront of his mind. In the blink of an eye, a ruby encrusted sword appeared in his hand. Harry placed it on the desk, making sure not to scatter the pieces of parchment lying around. He hated showing a room full of people something that made him stand out even more than before but he knew this was the only way of convincing the staff.

"Wow, you can summon a pretty sword," sneered McAllister. He clapped sarcastically. Binns, who had been floating monotonously beside Ron throughout the exchange, gaped at the sight of the sword. Other than Ron, he seemed to be the only one who recognised it.

"Perhaps Binns will be kind enough to explain the significance of this 'pretty sword'," said Harry.

"This is the legendary sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said, voice still having the power to bring sleep despite his apparent excitement. "It is said that Gryffindor hid the magical sword he used to defeat Slytheirn with. Only his true heir was able to summon it when his or her love for Hogwarts was paramount." Harry could bet that Binns had never been met with such interest and wonder at anything he had ever said in his life – or death.

"So you mean-"

"-Heir of Gryffindor-"

"I'm not really surprised after all Harry's done," said Neville sagely.

"Any other objections to me being Headmaster?" asked Harry wearily. None, not even McAllister, raised objections.

The rest of the meeting was quite standard. Harry discussed the new changes he was going to implement and invited those who objected to them to raise any alternatives. As expected, most of the objections came from McAllister, but, eventually, everyone agreed that change was good.

As everyone trickled out an hour later, Ron and Neville decided to stay behind. Once Binns had finally floated through the wall, Harry spoke up. "So how'd I do?"

"Surprisingly well," said Ron, "I would've expected you to duel with that idiot McAllister, though. You know, just to prove how good you are at Defence."

"That would've been the easy thing to do," said Harry wistfully. "But I don't think knocking out the Head of Slytherin would've done any good." Neville nodded in agreement but Ron shrugged.

"Your call," he said. "Just don't underestimate that guy. I've heard some pretty nasty stories about him. They say he was one of the main potions providers for You-Know-Who. He learned directly from Snape and everything. The only reason why he was appointed is because he was an old family friend of McGonagall's."

"He's all talk no action," said Harry astutely, "but I'll look out for him just in case."

* * *

_I'm afraid the story will only be updated weekly for now on thanks to the pressures of real life. (Oh and I'll be grateful on Economics student's opinions on doing Economics at University)_

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


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